Licentia Tripudio
by x.windance
Summary: [Freedom Dance]A young Woad girl has been devastated by the loss of her brother, but soon finds other thoughts occupying her mind after a fateful meeting in a forest. Better summary inside! Rating may change. TristanOFC NOW COMPLETE and editing in progres
1. Extraho: Quattuor Centum Annus Bellum

**Summary:** All of her life, Eracura has been fighting against her enemies to defend her land, and her people, clinging to a hope that one day, her people's conviction would prevail over the onslaughts of evil men further threatening their freedom than the Romans. Then, a fateful meeting in the forest brings Woad and Knight together, an unlikely alliance to turn the tide in battle to protect a home too long known and loved by both to forsake, where through friendship and in battle, Eracura will discover love, passion, freedom, and ultimately, herself.

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognize belongs to me.**

**Author's Note: **this is my first _King Arthur_ fanfiction; the movie is my favorite, and I have been attempting to write a fanfiction for it since I first saw it, and it was never satisfactory. I am trying my very best to stay true to all characters' personalities, and I would _greatly_ appreciate **assistance,** **reviews and constructive criticism. **Also, some of the information, such as cities, has been provided me by a book I am reading, called _The Skystone. _If you are really interested in Arthurian legend, I suggest you read this novel. It is a series called _A Dream of Eagles_, and _The Skystone_ is the first. It is a slow read, but very interesting and one hundred percent worth it. Jack Whyte has also written other books, which all revolve around Arthurian legend.

My story begins approximately two years, maybe less, before the movie takes place, and if I continue to write well, it will continue until after the movie. **Thank you.**

Now, on with the story! Enjoy!

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**Extraho: _Quattuor Centum Annus Bellum_**

In the early years of the Roman inhabitation of Britain, little was actually known of the Woads in the woodlands, or if they even truly existed. It was whispered among the Roman soldiers – mighty Legate and lowly Principale alike – that to lay eyes upon a blue demon of the mist condemned the beholder to almost certain death. And, it usually did, for the men spared by the Woads were few and far between.

Many trials were faced by the Romans at the hands of the Woads, and through the years, the Woads became no longer ghosts, but a bitter rival of the Roman Empire that was _very_ real and much feared, though rare was the day when a Roman soldier could admit to it.

Gradually, the daring of the Roman Auxiliary increased, and their force became inexorable, driving the Woads further and further north, at which point the _inexhaustible_ arrogance of the Romans caused them to believe that the fury of the Woad warriors could be contained by an eighty-mile wall that came to be known as Hadrian's. It separated the north and the south, Cambria and Caledonia, controlled by Woads and Romans, respectively.

Nothing, whatsoever unfortunately, dissuaded Roman soldiers from hunting Woads in the north as well, and so, eventually, the Woads were forced to adapt grudgingly to their new way of life – or be killed.

_And so it was, for almost four hundred years._


	2. I: Oculus ut Obsideo

**I: _Oculus ut Obsideo_**

When she was young, her ears had always been filled with the tales of the way life had been for the Woads before the Roman invasion, of the peace and of the freedom. Those words had given her a passion beyond any other; a desire for freedom and peace were as much a part of her as her blood, were as much a part of her upbringing as the art of war. And what a sickeningly beautiful art it was.

Tales of freedom were often accompanied – with grudging respect – of the great Sarmatian knights of the Round Table, of their courage and of their undefeatable commander, Artorius Castus.

Many of her days were occupied with the imaginings of a small girl; of the impossible alliance that would only be forged in her dreams between Woads and knights, united against the evil men who threatened them all. At such a young age, she would have loved nothing better than to one-day fight alongside the knights. But, too many years had past, too many close to her heart had died at their hands, and her hate had erased any farfetched fancy of childhood.

As a scout for her people, Eracura was mostly left with her own thoughts, and had little else to trouble her, though, on even a good day, her thoughts were troubling enough. Today, however, was a rare wonderful day, in the dark of night, when her twin brother Adonis had volunteered to join her. He felt strongly that she was alone too much of the time to be of sound mind.

Perhaps, she mused, that this was true. Perhaps she was too independent for her own good, but if there was one person in the world Eracura would give her life for, it was her brother. Many a day they had spent together. The most imaginative of all of their siblings put together, they had gone off on wild adventures through the countryside, and forged an unbreakable bond that ran deeper than their blood.

"Do you remember, Eracura," Adonis said thoughtfully, handing her a piece of one of the roasted rabbits from the spit over the fire, "the stories Father used to tell us? – about how honorable we could be, and feel, when fighting for our country?"

Eracura nodded, slowly chewing the meat, "I remember it well."

"Ironic then, isn't it," he sighed, "how long I've been fighting for this land, and how even now, I feel my honor wane."

She looked up at him, eyes suddenly sharp, studying his bowed head of thick, curly black hair. She chewed the inside of her cheek, and said finally, "you are an honorable man, Adonis."

"Yet, I do not feel so."

Eracura stood, making her way over to where he sat, and squeezed his shoulder. "You will one day, dear brother," she assured him. She smiled down at him, and he returned it, though the smile on his lips did not touch his despairing eyes. Eracura kissed his cheek before slowly meandered to the edge of the nearby ocean.

Peace filled her heart as she watched the white surf on the rocky beach beneath the moonlight. The wind brushed through her hair, sending salty spray to her face. This was why she had chosen this area to camp in, as she had many other nights. O, wondrous mystery of the ocean. Eracura inhaled deeply, and sighed, reveling in it.

A rustle in the trees put Eracura on alert, and she half-turned, to see a familiar shape approach with a leap of her heart. It had been a full three weeks before she'd seen her dear Father – too long, and she held out her hand, and Merlin took it, standing close beside her.

"Much you idolize the ocean, fair daughter," he said.

"It is like you say, Father," she said softly, "a last bit of beauty left in this dark world."

He turned to her, and she faced him. "Ah," he whispered mysteriously, "but it was not the ocean of which I spoke."

Eracura narrowed her eyes at him, and his own held the mischievous glint they did when he presented another with a riddle. Eracura had had them to solve on a number of occasions, and each had changed her in some small way. But, Merlin was wise, and each served a purpose. Each was a lesson to be learned.

Merlin's hand tightened around hers, "come, Eracura." He led the way back up the hill to the clearing where they had set up camp for the night, towards the fire where Adonis sat.

Adonis turned when he heard their footsteps, and leaped to his feet when he saw his Father, Merlin.

"What brings you here, Father?" he wanted to know.

"Yes," said Merlin gravely, sitting across the fire from them, "as much as I enjoy spending time with my favorite son and daughter, I regret to say that, alas, it is not my reason for coming."

Eracura watched her Father's face carefully, but as usual, his face did not reveal anything. He took a piece of meat from the spit, and chewed it, while his children sat squirming in anticipation.

"The Romans are coming," he said at last.

"Are they planning an attack?" Eracura asked, exchanging anxious glances with Adonis.

Merlin shook his head, "no," he said bluntly, "we are."

Eracura's brows snapped together, and the both of them sat up a little straighter.

"Do no look so surprised, children. We have attacked before," he paused, staring blindly into the fire. "A turmae is making its way from Mamucium to the Wall, even as we speak."

"South of the Wall?" Adonis breathed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

Merlin nodded, looking into his son's eyes. "It must be so." No more was said on the matter, for both Eracura and Adonis understood that while their Father was soft-spoken and astute, he was as obdurate as Eracura and would not be dissuaded.

At Merlin's command and with his aid, they erased any sign of their camp and followed him silently, each engrossed in his or her own thoughts, through the trees until they reached their settlement just before dawn.

A nomadic people, the Woads had designed rough huts that could be taken down, moved, and reconstructed within a day, depending on how far away they decided to relocate. This settlement consisted of at least thirteen of these huts, perhaps even close to two-dozen, and a larger hall, before which burned a large bonfire, calling the clans people to it.

Merlin threw open the large doors to the hall, and inside the people were silent. All were eating or being painted, in some cases, both, and one could see the apprehension in their eyes. Such was the silence that it took mere moments for Merlin to gather everyone's attention, and they all crowded around him as he drew a makeshift map in the loose soil.

"Here" - he stuck a dagger in the dirt - "is Mamucium." He then laid a stick across the narrowest part of the map, to signify Hadrian's Wall, and lay a stone in the exact center between the two locations, "and here is where we shall attack. Its distance is great enough from both the Wall and Mamucium that we will not have to worry about the turmae being reinforced."

A Woad raid was hardly expertly planned; most was common sense and instinct, and it was never planned more than two days in advance, so when all had been painted and armed, they moved out, though Eracura sincerely wished that they would sometimes plan ahead, especially when crossing the Wall.

Adonis, Eracura, and their cousins Guinevere and Einar were the first to the Wall that afternoon. Not only did they possess incredible stealth, but also the setting sun cast them as mere shadows crouching in the trees on the north side of the Wall. Eracura pounced upon one of the guards beneath her, slitting his throat, and was followed by the others, who each dispatched of another guard before leaping to the trees on the other side of the Wall.

The Wall had proved to be an unexpectedly simple obstacle to traverse, Eracura reflected, as she signaled to the Woads on the ground north of the Wall to begin their crossing.

Relatively little occurred during the few hours it took the Woads to reach their destination, though their targets had not yet arrived.

Eracura and Einar were joined by his sister, Bronwyn, to sit the second watch, after a mere three hours of sleep for each of them. Eracura sat comfortably, leaning against the trunk of the tree in which she sat, her legs extended before her on the bough, sharpening her dagger, and not really paying all that much attention to her duty. A sharp whistle startled her, and she gripped the branch with her legs, her head snapping towards Einar. He pointed out into the distance, and Eracura's eyes narrowed, following his direction, as she gazed across the field. Cresting the ridge of a foothill not too far away, was the Roman cavalry. She nodded to Einar, sheathing her dagger, and dove from the branch.

Guinevere looked up, startled from fletching an arrow, just as Eracura regained her composure and balance from the long fall.

"They're here," Eracura stated, brushing off her hands. Guinevere shot to her feet, and made her way through the sleeping forms on the ground, waking and alerting them all that the time of battle was near. In a matter of moments, the camp was alive in silent activity.

Eracura had her daggers secured at her hips; her twin swords upon her back, and was stringing her wicked black bow when Merlin approached her. "You, and the other women, will remain in the trees as archers." Eracura frowned in protest, but he would listen to none of her objections. "It appears we have some unexpected guests."

Eracura's sister, Kevay, younger than her by one year, appeared at Eracura's side, looking uneasy as she said, "who?"

Merlin looked to his daughter, "Arthur, and his knights."

Kevay tightly grasped Eracura's hand, noticeably paler beneath her rosy skin. Eracura could not help but wonder what her sister was doing here. It was true she could fight, but she was green in battle and innocent. Eracura thought back to a time when she was so naïve and squeezed her sister's hand reassuringly. She wished Morgaine and Ellerete were here, her older sisters, but both were home with their children. They had other obligations now, Eracura thought bitterly.

"Remember," said Merlin, addressing not only his daughters, but all of his warriors, "Rome is our enemy … not Arthur."

Eracura slung her bow on her back alongside her quiver and blades, and dragged Kevay along with her, leading the procession of fourteen women to the tree line. They all selected a tree within range of the battlefield, and chose a branch to crouch upon that left them concealed but with a clear view and shot.

Eracura looked to Kevay, on her left, who was knotting her long blonde hair at the nape of her neck, holding her bow between her knees, then to Guinevere, who had already knocked an arrow, and was flanked by Bronwyn on her other side.

A hawk screamed above just as the Roman turmae entered their line of fire, and it acted as a signal to all the Woads to surge into action. Eracura settled an arrow on her bowstring, took aim at a random target, and let her arrow fly. Another followed it before the first had found its mark. By the time the Woad men and the Roman cavalry became locked in battle, Eracura had fatally wounded nine men with her accurate rapid-fire. She had always been a pride to her Father in archery, and a constant source of worry in the battlefield as she was irreversibly obstinate and modestly reckless.

Everything was going well for the Woads, that is, until the knights decided to interfere. Had they not noticed none of their lives were in danger? Eracura thought furiously when one knight, a tall, lean man with shoulder-length dark brown hair and tattoos upon the apples of his cheeks, cut down one of her cousins, Avanc. The knights moved dispassionately, though skillfully, she mused, a pang of sorrow in her heart for the loss of her brave cousin.

She let an arrow fly towards another Roman soldier, and watched in satisfaction as he fell to the ground. She surveyed the battle, looking for her brother, and found him. She watched horrified, as he fell to his knees. In that moment, she felt her world crumble around her when she realized he had been wounded, perhaps fatally. No, no, no. She lurched out of the tree, barely registering in her mind that she had done so, drawing her daggers at her landing, and hurtled into the fray. Somewhere in the distance behind her, through the pounding of the now-icy blood in her ears, she heard Kevay's voice, calling her name. Eracura blindly killed the Romans who charged her, moving numbly, her mind focused only on one goal: Reach Adonis. After what seemed like a torturous eternity, she did, and she touched his face, frantically smoothing his hair from his eyes. She was breathing hard, tears stinging her eyes.

His own eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her for an instant as though he did not recognize her. "Eracura," his breath was short and labored, and blood seeped onto his lips. "My beautiful sister." He smiled slightly, tilting his face into her hand.

"I'm here." His hand slowly rose, cupping her face. She clutched it in her own, desperately.

"I'm glad. Do you remember, Eracura, when Father used to tell us of war and of death? – how far away it seemed then."

"Yes," she said, her voice soft as though she were dying with him. "I remember those days well, and long for their return."

Adonis shook his head, slowly from side to side. "There will be no return of them for me, but you will go on to see days of peace restored."

Eracura inhaled deeply, wringing his hand tighter.

"You were right, sister," he continued, "now, as death will take me to the halls of our people, I feel my honor return." She gave him a small smile, and a tear cascaded down her cheek. He wiped it away with his large, calloused thumb. "Do not cry for me, sister. I will always be with you."

"No," she hissed fiercely, "you're not going to die; I'm going to save you."

His eyes were glazing in death, his skin becoming cold as he smiled up at her. "You already did." His last breath flowed from his lungs, and Eracura was stunned for an instant, hardly daring to believe it. Frantically, denying the inevitable with every fiber of her being, she tried to rouse him. It could not be done, she realized with a dropping in her stomach and a freezing of her heart. She cried out, collapsing onto him, burying her face in his shoulder, and kissing his throat that, most terribly, lacked a pulse. Time did not seem to pass, and she cried so hard she could not breathe, and she did not want to.

Eracura was dimly aware of two pairs of hands taking firm hold of her biceps, and she let the Roman soldiers force her to her feet. But when she saw Adonis' cold, lifeless eyes looking up at her, she felt him stir in her heart. So there _was_ life after death as well, she thought. Selfish Mother, taking Adonis away from her.

"No!" she screeched, and she ripped one arm free of Roman hands, using that hand to draw one of her swords. Had they forgotten that she was a Woad? She spun, slicing both men through their gullets.

Across the field, her eyes locked with those of the knight that had killed Avanc. He stared at her as though he had never seen anything like her before, and her fury burned while her spirit diminished. Her heart sank in her chest, and she had no will to fight this knight. She turned, and picked her way through the bodies, back into the forest. She had been half-expecting the knight to attack her from behind, by the wide-eyed way he had been looking at her from the back of his mount, but he did not.

Her sorrow was heavy, and her knees gave into it, and she fell onto her back, gazing into the canopy of the trees. Kevay and Guinevere found her like that, what seemed like months later, but offered her no words of comfort. Instead, they lay beside her, taking each of her hands. Eracura was grateful to them for skipping what would have been unnecessary and disobliging words, but she could not express it for the tears choking her.

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He should have known that there would be an attack of this sort so close to the Wall. He urged his horse through the bodies, towards Arthur, and a dead man on the ground caught his eye. He had short, curly black hair and dark skin beneath the blue paint. The cause of his death was a straight-through stab wound just beneath his breastbone, and his eyes …

His eyes were the dull, lifeless version of the girl's he had seen from a distance, the Woad girl who had stood there, so devastated at the loss of someone, so openly daring him to come fight her, her lovely face smeared by blue paint, blood and tears, but her eyes … he had been captivated by her eyes. The color of the deepest part of the sea with the sunlight shining down upon it, where the blue faded into green.

Something about that girl's eyes, Tristan knew, would haunt him forever.

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**Author's Note: **Roman time _Mamucium_ is the equivalent to modern day _Manchester_, and a Roman _turmae_ was a cavalry group consisting of thirty to forty men. Thanks for reading this chapter; I'd love your impressions of it!


	3. II: A Torva Cognatus

**Author's Note: **thank you all for my kind reviews! I'm terribly sorry for the delay; there was something wrong with the site last night, or else this chapter would have been up already. And, I have no idea what curse-words would have been used at this period in time, so, I'm using modernizations. Oh, and also, Jols is referred to as an adjutant, and just to clarify for those who do not know, Roman soldiers (such as Arthur) were assisted by non-militarily enlisted men called adjutants. So, pretty much a servant or a squire, I suppose. **_PS: I hope that this chapter isn't too "Mary Sue"._**

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**II: _A Torva Cognatus_**

Eracura had no recollection of how long she had been gone. She had left her Father's side before making their way back over the Wall, and had been wandering the forest since. That morning, the air was chill and the sky was gray. A storm was coming; Eracura could smell it. Perhaps the rain could heal her in some small way, but she doubted it.

The weight of her heart was profound, and her eyes were bloodshot and dry, but she was nonetheless relieved when she came upon a lake nestled at the base of the snow-capped mountains. She removed her weapons and set them aside, well away from the water, and sat down upon the shore, the cold water lapping around her hips and soaking through her clothing.

She sat for a moment, letting her feet go numb, then splashed water on her bare skin, watching as the blue paint floated around her, running her wet fingers through her knotted hair. She lay back against the sand and rocks with a sigh, and let the water simply wash over her, staring up at the melancholy sky with apathetic feelings. Thunder rumbled, and the moment it began to rain was when Eracura heard the sound of fast-approaching hooves.

Panicked, Eracura had no time to gather her weapons before scrambling up the tree nearest them. She cursed her nerves as she crouched in the canopy, waiting. Her wet hair clung to her face and torso, making her debate whether or not to chop it all off as soon as possible, just as a gray mare skidded to a halt at the edge of the lake, immediately lowering her black lips to the water. The knight astride her hastily slid from her back and to his knees on the edge of the water, splashing his face and taking long drinks which made Eracura wonder if he was severely dehydrated, which, being the knight he was, she seriously tended to doubt.

Apparently, she'd wandered a bit farther southeast than she'd intended to.

He stood, and there was something familiar in the way he moved. She leaned forward, straining to see his face through his unruly mop of dark hair. Was it ..? Yes, it was! – The knight from the battle those few long days ago, who had killed Avanc. Her heartbeat lurched and she lost her balance, scraping her shins and triceps when she had to grab onto the trunk of the tree after tipping from her branch. She grunted in the effort of trying to reestablish her place on the bough, then looked down at him, hoping upon hope he had not heard the commotion above.

He had. His sword was drawn, his keen eyes scanning the trees.

"Shit," she let her forehead fall against the trunk in frustration, then launched herself from the branch she had only just regained her balance upon, landing on the ground with the grace of a cat.

He spun on his heel, pointing his ominous curved blade toward her, and she surveyed her opponent from her crouched position. As their eyes fused, Eracura thought she saw a flash of recognition in his, but as soon as it had appeared, it was gone which made her unsure.

Cautiously, for the tip of his sword was only about four feet away from her, and she had witnessed his agility before with no wish to experience it firsthand, she edged her way towards where her weapons were. She made a grave mistake by looking to see how much farther away they rested, and in an instant, his blade was at her throat, silently ordering her to stand, having seen what she looked towards.

He seemed momentarily surprised at how tall she was, and at how defiant the look was that she gave him, and for just that one second, he let his guard down. That was all she needed. She slapped his sword away, dove to her weapons, and encircled her hand around a hilt. Praying it was a sword, Eracura turned back to the knight, coming away with a dagger. She stared at it, irritated at her sudden turn of luck, and blocked his incoming blade with the outside of her bare right forearm.

Being left-handed, the knight had an unfair advantage over her exposed right side, and Eracura knew she would have to kill him quickly, or be killed herself. Lurching forward, her left arm lashed out, the tip of her dagger neatly slicing the skin of his collarbone. The sudden, unexpected bite of the cut made him stumble, wide-eyed, away from her. He touched the wound, and she knew he had underestimated her by the newfound caution he held in his eyes as he watched her. They circled each other, then stepped into the circle they had designated in the mud. The rain was coming down harder now, and the already damp earth at their feet was made positively perilous.

She charged towards him, and he sliced the side of her hip just before bending to sweep her feet off the ground. At the impact of falling, stars erupted before her eyes and her lungs emptied in one rush of her breath. She was bewildered, and her reflexes were delayed.

He stood over her, a triumphant glint in his eyes, as his blade arced towards her. She automatically blocked again with her already bleeding right arm, bringing her leg up into his side. He teetered sideways, and she used her other leg to take advantage of his already compromised balance by tripping him, and he fell, beginning to roll away automatically.

He got a good distance away from her before she scrambled over, pinning him, her dagger at his throat. He seemed surprised at being beaten, Eracura noticed, chest heaving, and she had a strange realization that she had no desire to kill this man.

Several sets of hooves were now drawing near, and Eracura's eyes shifted, catching a glimpse of the long white legs of another horse before blacking out.

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Tristan pushed the girl off him, standing and sheathing his sword, and the six other knights and Jols rode into the clearing. He stared down at her angrily, disgusted with himself for being caught off guard by her to the point of practically _allowing_ her to beat him.

"When you didn't return," said Gawain, "we thought you'd run into a bit of trouble."

Tristan gestured coldly to the girl who lay sprawled in the mud.

"But, I see you've already taken care of her. You should try to be more gentle; an unconscious lover is of no pleasure to you," teased Lancelot, grinning at the girl in that lecherous, womanizing way of his. Tristan glowered up at him, then headed to gather her weapons.

"Jols," he grunted, and gave Arthur's adjutant the girl's weapons, and he obediently added them to their packhorse.

Tristan then unceremoniously tossed the girl with ease into his saddle, and mounted behind her.

"Peaks your interest, does she?" laughed Bors, nodding in the direction of the girl. Tristan narrowed his eyes at the burly knight, giving him a threatening look.

"Come," said Arthur, with a dismissive glance at the Woad in Tristan's lap, "let us try to get back to the fort before this storm gets any worse."

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Eracura groaned, rubbing the back of her pounding head, her knuckles discovering the sudden abrasion of cold armor. Oh no, she thought. She did not want to open her eyes, for fear of what she might see, but she forced them open. It was raining, and the gleaming coat of the gray mare she sat astride was darkened from damp, and warm, hard thighs were behind her own. Her hip was bleeding from a short cut down to the bone, and her right arm was also, from two parallel scratches on the outside bone of her forearm, and a strong arm held her firm against a decidedly male chest, the calloused skin of the hand rough on her bare midriff.

So, he had chosen to take her, had he? After an obviously heartbreaking loss at the hands of a Woad, and a _female _Woad, no less, he had rendered her unconscious and kidnapped her! Well, if he thought she was going to allow herself to be taken so easily, he was sadly mistaken.

She began her struggle, her body's reactions to her frantic mind's orders hindered by sheer exhaustion. His arm readily tightened around her, but still somehow she managed to get one leg onto the opposite side of the horse. Not willing to release her, it seemed, he instead let loose the reins of his now-skittering horse. She was determined to escape however, and Eracura elbowed him in the stomach, his hot breath rushing on her neck in a fog. His arms loosened to regain his equanimity, but the horse, agitated by the fussing on her back, reared, knocking them both to the ground.

Eracura rolled over the man, leaping to her feet, and with unsteady steps on numb legs, began to sprint away.

Tristan fumed, briefly considering allowing her to flee, but he had his pride to maintain, and he found himself chasing after her. He caught her arms easily, and she spun, making to strike him. He flinched involuntarily before grabbing both her wrists, just for good measure, and forced her back towards the other knights, who were so busy trying to disguise their amusement that they at first did not hear Tristan's low request.

"Someone," he demanded, louder this time, "give me some rope!"

His eyes never left hers as he lashed her wrists together with rope he didn't much care as to who had provided him, and he was shocked at how much spirit was held within them. It seemed that all her life was held in those passionate eyes, for her skin-and-bone, scarred, bruised and bleeding body seemed to have no right to do so.

He hoisted her into the saddle when he was content with his binding of her, and quickly remounted before she could attempt another ill-planned getaway.

Eracura sat rigid in the saddle for the rest of the way, trying to suppress her shivers from cold and damp, and even harder to not touch the knight at her back, which was indeed an impossible task.

When Eracura truly believed that she would no longer be able to walk for the chafing in her thighs, the fort of Badon Hill loomed before her. She gave a small gasp, cringing inwardly at the foreboding black façade. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape upon looking up at the unyielding walls, but her face twisted in hate at the sight of the Roman soldiers, and she was suddenly on edge, her blood surging.

As they entered through the outer wall, a deep voice was in her ear, "get your hair out of my face," the knight ground out through gritted teeth.

"How do you propose I do that?" she snapped back, "you tied me up," a pause, in which she began shivering uncontrollably, the heat her hate had spawned dissipating abruptly, "or had you forgotten?"

He sighed deep in his chest, uttering an almost animal growl, and roughly gathered her thick mane of hair at her neck, pushing it over her left shoulder. His arm resumed its position around her waist, pulling her closer in an effort to warm her. She pretended to be unfazed, even pulling away defiantly, though the gesture deeply disturbed her.

They entered a tiny courtyard after crossing the threshold of the inner wall, and Tristan roughly shoved her out of the saddle, dismounting behind her. Arthur spoke with two lowly soldiers who trotted away at his curt dismissal, and then turned to Tristan, who was already leading the girl and his mare away to the barn until Arthur found accommodation for the Woad.

"Tristan, wait a moment, if you will," said Arthur, coming to stand before the girl. He looked down into her bold face, taking in her rebellious nature. "Is it you?" Arthur said to her. Her face remained impassive, her lips, unresponsive. "Could it possibly be you, Eracura?"

At this, her eyes brightened, and a ghost of a smile touched her full lips. "After all this time," she said, her voice taking on a jovial air, "you remember me, Arthur?"

Arthur took her shoulders in his large hands. "Your eyes," he whispered, cupping one side of her face in his large hand, "they have not changed, cousin."


	4. III: Condita Amicita

**Author's Note: **okay, so, these next chapters might be a little boring, and I'm not sure if I'm happy with this chapter, so expect some revision. Input would be nice. And sorry for the delay; this chapter, though not very good now, was worse before I rewrote it. Anyways, enjoy!

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**III: _Condita Amicita_**

… "_Your eyes," he whispered, "they have not changed, cousin."_

_Cousin. _Arthur's words resonated in Tristan's ears. Arthur's cousin? – how … inconvenient. He did not particularly want to admit, even to himself, that he had his own selfish reasons for taking her from the forest that morning, when he could have left her there. Arthur's cousin? His eyes were wide in bafflement. Though, he reasoned with himself, Arthur's Mother had been a Woad.

"Except for these tattoos," continued Arthur. He smoothed his fingers over the tattoo over her left eye, and its mirror image beneath her right. Three slender black triangles, point towards her eye, all identical in length and shape.

Tristan watched her as she grinned broadly, the light of her smile shattering her dark countenance. She relevéed on her tiptoes to kiss Arthur on both cheeks while he clasped her hands, and Tristan felt an entirely foreign niggling sensation at his temples.

A fat tear rolled down her cheek as Arthur embraced her, and then he pushed her away, smiling into her face as she hastily wiped her eyes. Nine long years it had been since they had last played together as children. She hadn't realized until now just how much she had missed him.

"I'm sorry," she laughed a little wetly, "I'm not usually like this."

"I expect you're simply tired," Arthur responded, patting her back, "I'll have the maids draw you a bath and outfit you in appropriate apparel - " at this, Eracura looked down at her crude rawhide woven breast-band and pants, feeling a flush creep into her cheeks, " – but first; tell me, why did you not say anything before?"

Eracura smirked, cocking one narrow black eyebrow, "seems a bit like begging for mercy, wouldn't you say?"

Arthur laughed, and her smile broadened, "I shouldn't even have asked."

"I'm surprised at you, cousin," she said, running her fingers over the armor on his shoulder, "after nine years you remember my eyes and my name, but absolutely _nothing_ about me."

"Time has changed us both," he said levelly. He turned to Tristan, "Tristan, please escort Eracura to the guest quarters."

He nodded curtly, handing Cotovatre's reins to Arthur, who casually agreed to tend the mare. He sighed. Arthur's long-lost cousin reappears after nine years, and this is what he is reduced to? Satisfying the whim of a Woad wench. _Ah, duty. _

Eracura walked beside him, keeping with his brisk pace, and was stunned when they reached her quarters. The cold stone floor was made more forgiving by rich rugs. A large window at the east wall, facing the courtyard tavern, was partially concealed by heavy cream-colored drapes, and the large tub beneath it was blocked from view of the door by a dressing screen. The large bed, with feather-down pillows and plush furs, was pushed against the south wall, opposite a great stone hearth.

Tristan turned to leave, but just as he exited the room, he apologized a little gruffly. She twisted to face him, leaning against the door, eyebrows raised and a quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"You would not be apologizing to me if I was not Arthur's cousin," she correctly assumed. Tristan found himself returning her smile as he shook his head. "Do not concern yourself with my welfare, Sir Knight; I'm sure I know how to take care of myself, by now." He moved to leave, and as he did so, her voice followed him. "You fight well, Sarmatian," she said softly. He halted his steps, and looked back at her over his shoulder, to see just one half of her face as she closed the door.

Well, she certainly was intriguing.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura was bathed, measured and given a slightly ill-fitting dress by the portly maid Anjelica, who promised her new ones for the following day, and Arthur came to fetch her to dinner approximately two hours after Anjelica had left, and had to choke down his laughter upon studying her in the dress.

She put one hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes and frowning up at him. "What is it?" she demanded.

"I _do_ hope the seamstresses have a dress that fits ready for you soon," he said, his eyes shining with mirth.

Eracura touched the soft gray cotton of the skirt, "Is it so bad?"

Arthur cleared his throat, and plucked at the skirt. "Well," he began, "you're even taller than your Mother, who would be a head taller than most of the women here, and at least five stone skinnier." He grinned at the way the dress stopped abruptly just below her knees, revealing the band-style tattoos on her calves.

He took her hand, "well, naught can be done about it now." She resisted his attempt to pull her along behind him out of the room. He turned back to her, giving her a penetrating and rather exasperated look. "What's the matter?"

"Well," she said huffily, taking her hand from him and folding her arms across her chest, "now, I don't want to leave. Tell me Arthur, do you enjoy making women feel lesser?" She pulled on her rawhide pants, which Anjelica had been reluctant to leave behind, and her knee-high boots.

He knew she was teasing, and he feigned innocence. "Me? Never."

"I'm sure," she rolled her eyes, sitting down rigidly on her bed, "No wonder you're not married yet," she muttered under her breath. He pursed his lips, grabbed her hand and forcefully yanked her to her feet.

"Don't be like that, woman. I'm hungry, and so are you." She pouted slightly, but couldn't protest. It was the truth after all. She did not remember how long ago it had been since she had eaten, and did not particularly want to think of it, for Adonis had been there with her.

She allowed herself to be dragged anyway, to the courtyard tavern she'd seen from her window. It had been deserted then, but now it was teeming with men; mostly Roman soldiers, and Arthur tightened his hold upon her as though he had sensed her desire to hurt one of them, if only one before she died or left this place, whichever came around first. Certainly it would be the former, if she succeeded.

He took her to a table closest to the bar, and Eracura was relieved to see that when he sat, he was sitting only with his knights. She sat timidly alongside him, and his booming voice addressed the knights, "Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Eracura."

Suddenly, _she _was the center of attention, and Eracura could understand why her sister Kevay hated it so much. Arthur first introduced her to the man sitting beside him, Lancelot, a tall, lean man with dark skin, merry eyes, black curly locks and a roguish smile.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lancelot," she said, smiling. She had heard stories of this man and his great skill, but had only dreamed of one day meeting him. He took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips.

"The pleasure is mine," his voice was smooth, pleasant, and obviously much used in the art of seduction. Just as his lips brushed her knuckles, she slipped her hand away, the tips of her tapering fingers scratching against his beard.

Another man, whom Arthur whispered in her ear was Bors, a hefty, burly bald man with a deep gravelly voice, laughed loudly.

"Losing her favor already, Lancelot," he said. Eracura gave Lancelot a sidelong glance and smile.

"I know a fox when I see one," she bit her lip, and Bors and the men to his right, introduced to her as Gawain and Galahad, laughed outright.

"The man beside you is Dagonet," said Arthur, and Eracura looked to the silent man, who was also the tallest she had ever seen. He had icy blue eyes, a roughly shaven head, and a scar on the left side of his face, from mid-forehead to beneath his cheekbone. Eracura wondered, as she returned his firm grip in a handshake, how he was not blind.

"And you remember Tristan."

Eracura nodded, studying the man to the left side of Bors, "How could I forget?" she replied. He gave a short chortle, and then turned to feed a bit of the venison in his plate to the beautiful golden hawk on his arm, ignoring her.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura was not included in much of their conversation, but she was content to sit back and listen to their masculine voices and raucous laughter, as if they did not have a care in the world, which was true now. How Eracura envied their comfortable lifestyle. She found her traitorous eyes frequently sliding down the table to Tristan, who seemed unaware of her gaze.

"We need more ale," complained Galahad, who, from what Eracura could tell, was already quite drunk.

She stood, and took the tankard from Galahad's hand. "I'll go." She'd offered originally because of the growing cramp in her leg; she hadn't sit still for such a time for as long as she could remember, but when she saw the way Galahad swayed precariously on his feet, she was sure that he was not only a danger to himself, but everyone else in the tavern as well.

"You're a _doll_, Eracura," Bors crooned, reaching out to run his hand down her arm. Oh my, Eracura thought, these men certainly _were_ friendly when under the influence of alcohol. "You should bring her around more often, Arthur."

Arthur looked up at her, catching her eyes. "You don't have to; there are barmaids."

"Judging by the amount of men here, I'd say they're rather busy," she smiled and walked up to the bar, sliding like a snake around Romans as if they would contaminate her with plague if she touched them.

In truth, it wasn't that Eracura _didn't have_ to fetch the ale, which she didn't; it was that Arthur was not sure they would even _serve_ her. The black tattoos on her face, earlier dulled by the blue paint, were now very stark against her ivory skin. And the tribal tattoos made her identity rather obvious.

Arthur would have been right about the serving situation, had Eracura not been the person she was. She stood at the bar, wedging herself between two men on barstools, who immediately shifted away from her. She slid the tankard onto the bar, towards a voluptuous red-haired beauty who gave Eracura a look of distinct distaste.

"We don't welcome, nor serve, _your kind_ here," she snapped.

Eracura's brows shot up, her eyes blazing with sudden hatred for this woman. "Is that so?" she hissed, voice laced with venom. Her hand slid away from her body, towards that of the man on her left side, grabbing the hilt of the dagger in his belt. The girl leaned over the bar, shoving her face into Eracura's

"That is so," she said icily. Eracura whipped the dagger out of its sheath, and the point found its way to the woman's neck. Her cold brown eyes widened, and her skin paled, and she made an effort to back away without Eracura's noticing, unsuccessfully. Eracura grabbed a chunk of the girl's hair with her free hand, wrenching it so that her cheek was nearly pressed against the wood of the bar. Eracura was aware of the men along the bar drawing their weapons, but she did not acknowledge them. What was the point? She would only get herself in more trouble.

"How about now?" Eracura demanded.

Just as the words were out of her mouth, and the girl was nodding frenetically, agreeing to serve her, a big, strong hand grasped Eracura's forearm, pulling her hand, and the knife away from the maid, who skittered away, red-faced, to fill Eracura's pitcher. Eracura glared ferociously after her, then turned to see Gawain, who had been seated on the end of the bench closest to her.

Arthur had seen Eracura's discreet move to take the dagger, and his eyes had narrowed perceptively, and Gawain had followed his gaze just in time to see her threaten Nimiane, the barmaid. He had leaped from his seat and trotted smartly over to her.

"Making friends already?" he asked her, attempting to fight back the smile that wanted to belie his sternness by chewing the inside of his cheek. Eracura frowned slightly, and then he said, "Not a good idea."

"And why might that be?" she demanded, crossing her arms as he took the dagger from her hand, returning it to the Roman officer she had snagged it from.

"Well," said Gawain, whispering conspiratorially in her ear, "Nimiane happens to be the bed warmer for several of the Roman officers in the fort; I don't imagine that they would take kindly to a Woad threatening the life of the only woman they can have." He snorted, and took the full tankard from a glowering Nimiane with a polite nod but cold eyes, and, with his arm around Eracura's shoulders, continued talking to her. "She is a complete bitch, and a whore. Don't let a woman without virtue irk you so."

"And is she without virtue for you, as well?" Eracura flushed when he threw his head back with a short bark of a laugh.

"Nimiane," he laughed, breathlessly, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, "in _my_ bed? Eracura, I am hurt. Do you really think me so lowly?"

Eracura bit the corner of her lip, grinning up at him, and playfully punched him in the ribs. "I do apologize, Gawain."

"Besides," he said flippantly, "plenty of women would go to bed with me, and all of them more attractive than _Nimiane_."

Eracura snorted, "We _are_ modest."

Gawain merely glared, and tugged on the ends of her hip-length black hair.

She resumed her position on the bench beside Arthur, watching the men drink. She had never consumed ale before, and truly had no desire to, for it smelled absolutely rancid. Aside from her, only Tristan did not drink at all. Instead, he satisfied himself with a dark green apple, which Eracura found peculiar.

"Join us for the hunt, tomorrow, Eracura?" said Gawain.

Her head snapped towards him, and she hesitated, "oh, um …"

"Yes, please do," said Arthur, "for old time's sake."

Eracura gave him a small smile and agreed. "But I have no horse."

Arthur's brow furrowed. "Well, go to the barn and find yourself one, then."

"And I have no bow."

Again, Arthur frowned. "Oh right. Tristan gave Jols your weapons this morning. I'll have them brought to you tomorrow." She smiled her thanks and skipped merrily to the barn; she had never had a horse to call her own, though she loved them dearly. Eracura slipped into the barn, inhaling deeply the heart-warming odor of horse and hay. The lanterns burned low in the immense expanse of the barn, and Eracura searched the stalls.

Most of the horses at the front of the barn were clearly claimed; the wares of their owner displayed on the walls of the stall. As Eracura worked her way into the darkness, however, the horses and stalls became unkempt and disheveled.

The moon poured through a window high on the wall, casting its light upon a tall, mahogany bay mare, and Eracura ran her eyes over her lean, well-muscled form. Her coat was smooth beneath Eracura's fingers, her brown eyes gentle.

"Her name is Astolat," said a voice behind her. Eracura spun, clutching her reeling heart, to see Tristan, leaning on the stall door, his hawk on his arm.

"Astolat," Eracura repeated, "she is beautiful."

"And a good horse," said Tristan, moving towards his own mare. "A smart choice."

Eracura followed him, "Your hawk, Sir Knight," she said, watching the hawk in question fly into the rafters above the mare's head, "what do you call her?"

"Ceday," Tristan replied shortly. "And I wish you would stop calling me _Sir Knight_. Would you appreciate it if I constantly referred to you as _Woad_?"

Eracura smiled, meeting his gaze through the darkness. "Point well taken, _Tristan" -_ she stressed his name purposefully. "And Ceday, how did you come to have her?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"How else am I to learn?"

Touché. He smirked, knowing it went unnoticed for the darkness. "I found her as a chick, kicked out of the nest because she was too small to fly."

Eracura nodded. A runt, "You saved her."

"I suppose so."

After a long silence, her soft voice carried through the darkness. "Good night, Tristan."

He did not reply, knowing she had already gone. All night, he had tried in vain to dismiss her from mind. He could sense her eyes watching him; a man knew when such an enchanting gaze was upon him, for it seemed to pierce the very soul. He had only known her a day, and already something within him stirred as he brought her image to mind.

He shook his head to clear it. Why did she have to be Arthur's cousin? And _why_ did she have to be a Woad?

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura closed the door behind her as she entered her room, her mind devoid of all thought save the sound of Tristan's voice. How it tormented her. She laid another log upon the low fire in the hearth, and stoked it to life, and removing her clothes, she slipped into bed, snuggling into the furs.

Though she was exhausted, Eracura had never experienced a more restless sleep in such a comfortable atmosphere.


	5. IV: Varietas Totus Inter

**Author's Note: **Once again, I'm not too happy with this chapter. I want so badly to get to the romantic parts of it, but I think it should develop in order to seem realistic. Oh well … I'll change this chapter if I come up with a better idea for it.

Also, I wanted to give quick thanks to my reviewers so far:

**KnightMaiden **– thank you so much for all of your encouragement! I really appreciate it.

**Twisted Ivy** – I'm very glad you like it so much!

**Scouter** – Here's my next update! I hope you like it.

**The Freakin' Hot One** – I'm happy my story is unique in some way to you!

**homeric** – I like Eracura too, and I'm thrilled that you agree. Perhaps she will wreak her vengeance upon them in a different form. ;)

**Jenni** – Thank you! Yes … _sigh_ Tristan. How lovely. :)

**devon** – I've posted more and I hope that you're still reading.

**Black Knight63** – My first reviewer! Yay! Thank you for your advice and encouragement and I hope that you still love my writing. :)

To all of you: I hope that my story fails to disappoint you all in the future!

**Thank you!**

**--------------------------------------------------**

**IV: _Varietas Totus Inter_**

The morning sun rose into the overcast sky, and Eracura barely had enough time to register the coming of dawn before her door was practically busted down by a flustered Anjelica, clutching a bundle of clothing. Eracura sat bolt upright in the bed, shrinking against the cold wall at her back, wrapping herself in the fur she had moments ago been dozing peacefully beneath.

"You'd think Arthur would be kind enough by now to inform me of his plans a day in advance, especially when the cousin he insists on taking along with him for the hunt has nothing to wear!" she fumed, momentarily disappearing behind the dressing screen, and reemerging with empty arms. "Well, go on, child," she said, noticing Eracura's blank stare, "get dressed! The men will be waiting on you, and I must do something with your hair, yet."

Eracura crawled out of the bed, still holding the fur to herself, and watched the red-faced woman from the corner of her eye until she was safely behind the dressing screen.

The clothing provided her was men's wear, but still the finest she'd ever worn. Tight, yet soft leather breeches that were a fraction too short, which could easily be hidden by the calf-tall leather boots that morphed to fit Eracura's feet like a glove. She pulled on a dark gray cotton tunic that was snug in places, but would have been more fitted for a man. Then Anjelica appeared, seeming to know Eracura was finished. She scrutinized the younger girl with a critical eye, "that will have to do," she mumbled, then gesturing to the stool behind Eracura, ordered her to sit.

Eracura meekly obeyed, and Anjelica wedged herself in behind her, taking Eracura's hair in her hand and struggled to comb it through before her surprisingly swift fingers took the hair at the sides of Eracura's head and braided it until about a quarter of the length. The thick braids were twisted over top, then underneath and again over top the rest of Eracura's hair, and the braid was continued to rest upon her spiraled curls.

"What I wouldn't do for hair like yours," Anjelica said wistfully, touching her own, somewhat lacking blonde braid. "Well, best get on," she said to Eracura, shoving a heavy black cloak into her arms before pushing her out of the door.

Eracura emerged into the cold air, and threw the cloak around her shoulders, jogging to the barn. She had hoped that not all of the men would be there, but they were, quietly going on about their business.

Tristan looked up towards the door just as Eracura waltzed through it. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, and he could tell that she had not slept very well, if at all, but she was still in good spirits. She noticed his gaze almost at once, though he did not avert his eyes, as he was unabashed. She smiled at him, and something about her seemed to relax at his tiny smile. They continued staring at each other, over Cotovatre's saddle, until Gawain went to the door to greet her.

"There you are, Eracura!" said Gawain, "Those rooms are damn comfortable, aren't they? No wonder you slept in."

Eracura grinned up at him, "Indeed so," she replied, "I was debating to tell Anjelica that I simply was not going because it was warmer in my room than it will be in the woods, but she was in such a formidable mood that I could not bring myself to say anything."

"My fault," said Arthur, "she likes to have time to prepare things before we leave."

"Well," said Eracura, "what is the problem with that? Perhaps she wouldn't bitch at me about you, Arthur, if - "

"The problem is," Bors interrupted, "if you let her start in on you, she'll never stop."

Gawain chuckled, and patted Eracura's shoulder. "Your bow is with Astolat."

"Alright," she said, and she made her way through the maze of men and horses to her own horse, who greeted her with a gentle nuzzle. "Hello, beauty," she said to the mare, rubbing her head beneath her forelock. Eracura fitted a long retired bridle to the mare's fine head, and led her from the stall after shouldering her bow and quiver.

"Where's your saddle?" said Lancelot, passing by.

"I prefer bareback, Lancelot," Eracura replied suggestively, and she winked at him while he gave her a rather surprised smile. Actually, she did not think she could ever bear to be in a saddle again; the chafing in her thighs had still not receded from the previous experience. Eracura grasped the mare's withers and reins in her hand, and swung herself onto Astolat's bare back.

The mare was a generally well-rounded mount, not too bony and her pace fairly smooth and fast. She rode out of the fort alongside Arthur, in the lead, and it was he who suggested reverting to their old games during the hunt.

"Whoever gets a deer first, wins," he said as they merged into the forest.

"You must be joking," Eracura replied skeptically.

"No," he said firmly, "I'm very serious." Eracura frowned at him, and laughed when he looked at her, his face somber.

"Alright, fine."

It appeared that Arthur had no recollection of how good a shot she was. She killed the first stag they came upon, and Arthur sulked like a spoiled child who didn't get his own way – like he used to when they played target practice together as children.

"I don't want to hunt with you anymore," he moped as she, well, rather Bors and Dagonet burdened his stallion, Hocequin, with her kill.

She pretended to be gloomy over his words, "Fine," she said, "I'll leave, then."

"You can hunt with me," leered Lancelot. Eracura gave him a disgusted look, but she laughed when he returned it with faux-despair in his brown eyes.

"Just kidding, Lancelot," she replied, patting his thigh, and she, Lancelot, Gawain and Tristan separated from the others, amidst shouts from Bors and Arthur the likes of: "The two best shots can't be in the same group! It isn't fair."

Between the four of them, they bagged almost a dozen fat rabbits and two geese, and when Tristan looked up into the sky, it was already late afternoon. "We best be heading back," he said, and on their way towards the fort, a frightened doe leaped from the trees, startling the horses.

Eracura, who had been guiding Astolat with her knees, her hands being preoccupied by holding her bow at the ready, was entirely taken off guard by the doe, and Astolat, who had nearly been kicked by the doe's hooves, reared in offense with a shrill whinny. Tristan, whose reflexes weren't forgotten by falling into the dirt as Eracura did, killed the doe and dismounted.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot laughed, looking down at her from his stallion's back. She giggled, a little breathlessly, in response from where she lay sprawled on the ground.

"Yes, I'm fine," she assured him, taking Tristan's proffered hand and coming to stand. He did not immediately release her, and they stood for a moment, so close their toes touched, their strangled breath mingling in clouds before them. Tristan studied her face, so close now to his own, and felt a worm wriggle in his stomach as he briefly considered doing something foolish.

"Gawain, look," said Lancelot in a low voice, "a _moment_." Eracura looked away with a small gasp, her heart racing, and Tristan instantly released her hand, as though she were suddenly red-hot, and backed away.

"Tristan has moments?" muttered Gawain incredulously, and Tristan glared at him, face slightly flushed around his temples. Gawain and Lancelot laughed, and as Gawain was dismounting to lend Tristan a hand with the doe, Eracura heard a small whimpering, like an animal crying. She hushed them.

"What is it?" said Gawain.

"I hear something," she replied, and she followed the noise into the woods.

She would have trod upon the tiny wolf pup, for his dark coat blended so well with the earth, had he not moved just before she did. "Oh, hello," she said soothingly, gradually lowering herself into a crouching position. The pup waddled over to her on his stubby legs, noodle-like tail whipping around for balance. He could not have been more than a few weeks old; his eyes were barely open and still possessed the blue sheen. She picked him up, cradling him in her arms. "Where is your Mother?" She looked around, and saw. A female wolf, the largest Eracura had ever seen, with a dark gray coat, lay sprawled on the ground, neck broken, obviously by a hunter who did not relish being attacked by a wolf. With reason, Eracura supposed, but to leave a baby alone and helpless? "Poor little boy," she wrapped the wolf in the tails of her cloak and sympathetically told him that she would take care of him.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Tristan led Astolat back to the fort, for while a gravely distracted Eracura might be able to stay on a horse, she could not guide her. She was a multi-tasking mishap. Though, during their ride, she did find a name for the little black wolf; Syhier, which was the name her Father had given a massive black wolf who used to haunt their settlement, years ago.

Dinner was an informal affair again that night, and Eracura did not even bother to change her clothes, despite the twelve stunning dresses that had been made especially for her.

On account of the rain, however, the knights, joined by Jols, Bors' woman Vanora, and their ten – soon to be eleven – children, ate in the fortress hall, at the legendary Round Table. Eracura could not stop herself from gaping at it while sitting down beside Arthur.

They ate heartily; rabbit stew, steamed vegetables, and venison – and despite Arthur's shrill protests, Syhier was fed thickened sow's milk from atop the table. "Well, you never were one to obey," supposed Arthur, nudging Eracura as she grinned acquiescence.

Eracura yawned widely into her arm after eating her fill, and decided to retire, too tired to acknowledge Tristan's gaze upon her as she departed, and for once, she slept very well.

"I know that look," grunted Bors in Tristan's ear, "You fancy her."

"You're drunk," Tristan said pointedly, and Bors laughed.

"Aye, I may be drunk," he admitted, pulling Vanora closer to him on his lap after taking a deep draught from his goblet, "but I ain't blind."

Tristan shrugged. He was no stranger to lusting after a woman with beauty, and Eracura's knew no parallel. But, he had to admit, his feelings for her ran a touch deeper than simple _lust_, and were alien to him; a strange type of camaraderie that was not camaraderie at all. Just trying to make sense of it himself fatigued him, and ten minutes of struggling through the fog of confusion forced him to retire.

Bors' shout followed him, "You think on that!"


	6. V: Viridis Pomum

**Author's Note:** thank you again to all of my reviewers. I really am pleased that you all like it, and I hope you continue to read, enjoy, and review!

Just to let you all know, this chapter, I must admit, is a bit fluffy, but, it is still alright, for fluff, I suppose.

Also, as a lot of the ancient cities of Britain were Roman built, places like _Aquae Sulis_ actually existed, and still exist to this day, though under a different name. _Aquae Sulis_ is now referred to as _Bath. _

Also, I make mention of the commanders of the five forts of the Saxon Shore. I have absolutely no idea who these men actually were at this time, so they sort of remain anonymous. The forts, however, I do have some knowledge of, though I don't know for sure if they had actually been built at this time: there were five (duh), and they were all on the far eastern shore of Britain, on the shore of the English Channel facing what is today France. They were _Regulbium_, _Rutupiae, Dubris, Lemanis _and _Anderita, _which are now, respectively, _Reculver, Richborough, Dover, Lympne _and _Pevensey._

Sorry about the delay. Now, on with the story!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**V: _Viridis Pomum_**

He did think about it. In reality, they both did, though Eracura was spared Bors' advice on the matter; a luxury Tristan would have gladly partaken in. A week had passed since he had met Eracura in the forest, and he could not understand how circumstances had become so confusing for him, in regards to her, in such a small amount of time. He _tried_ not to think of her, and he_ tried_ to avoid her, but it seemed that the more he _tried_, the less successful he became. It was always as though as soon as he had managed to shed her from his mind, she appeared in the flesh. A moment of peace where she was neither in his vision or his thoughts was becoming increasingly rare, and was only going to get worse, especially with Arthur's announcement that they had been invited to Aquae Sulis to take part in a week of relaxation and meetings with the fort commanders of the five forts of the Saxon shore.

Not that the situation was any easier for Eracura. She could never meet Tristan's fathomless brown eyes for fear her own would give away her thoughts. She felt as though she were sliding down a mountain at breakneck speed whenever she saw him, and the pit of her stomach always gave a little spin, an almost pleasant sort of nausea. And whenever he looked or spoke to her, she could feel herself turn color, though the rare time when he did speak to her, it was a brief and awkward type of conversation. She was ashamed to know of herself that when she could have an opportunity to be alone with him, she usually hid or, when that wouldn't work, scurried away like a frightened jackrabbit before he saw her. Then Arthur announced their intentions to visit Aquae Sulis for, at most, a week, and Eracura was caught alone in the barn when Tristan came in.

Tristan hesitated at the door when he saw Eracura there with Astolat, for though he would never admit it, he sometimes briefly considered doing the same thing she had been doing without his knowledge. But he continued with Ceday on his arm, stepping quietly in the hopes that he could slip in and out without her noticing.

It wasn't to be. Eracura heard him when he scuffed the dirt with his boot, and she turned and felt herself blush slightly before hastily turning her attention back to Astolat.

"Good evening," she said politely. There was no point in ignoring him. He merely nodded in reply, before sending Ceday into the rafters of Cotovatre's stall. "If you don't mind me asking," she said after a pause, for she had been wondering all night, "why are we going to Aquae Sulis?"

Tristan came to stand beside her, though still arm's length away. He shrugged one shoulder, "well, I know we were invited, and that the commanders of the forts of the Saxon shore wish to speak with Arthur." She looked at him, curiosity in her eyes, and he continued. "The Saxons have been sending small troupes of scouts along the shore –" at her look of surprise, he smirked, "they were all caught, so don't worry. Anyway, they believe that the Saxons are planning an invasion."

"And what can Arthur do about that?" she wanted to know, still absently stroking Astolat's black muzzle.

Tristan gave a bitter laugh, "the Romans would rather risk our necks in such a battle than their own."

Eracura nodded in understanding. She could see that of the Romans now, and felt foolish for asking. "Have you ever been to Aquae Sulis?" she asked him.

He shook his head, running one large hand through his untamed dark brown hair. "All I know of it is that it is four days' ride to the southwest of here," he replied, "and they have hot springs."

"Hot springs!" Eracura exclaimed, suddenly excited for the trip.

He frowned at her slightly, and replied, "yes. Did you not know that?"

She blushed slightly, giving a small laugh. "You forget what I am, and where I've been most of my life. I hadn't even heard of it until dinner." They stood there in silence for a moment, though it wasn't overly strained, and she finally said, "Well, if it's a four day journey, I shall take pleasure in my bed for the night. Come, Syhier." The little wolf trotted clumsily out from the stall, covered in straw. Eracura stood shoulder to shoulder with Tristan for a second, all too aware of his gaze, like a rod of hot iron upon her skin. She looked boldly up into his eyes, for once wishing he would read what was written in them. "Goodnight, Tristan."

Her presence was like a vice, Tristan decided while readying himself for bed that night; he could hardly breathe when she was around him, let alone think properly. He had seen something strange flash in her eyes earlier in the barn, but could not interpret it for lack of thought process. And then she had left and he suddenly felt oxygen rush into him. She was dangerous, and that was all there was to it.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura was tired the next morning, for she and the other men were roused at dawn. Anjelica had provided her with two more sets of riding clothing and a fancier dress, just in case she was invited to a banquet or something of the sort. Eracura scoffed at this. It was highly improbable that _she_ would be invited to a banquet. Though the dress was beautiful, and a small, disloyal part of her wanted to be, just so she could flaunt it.

She arrived at the barn the same time Gawain did, and she discovered that he was a morning person. She wanted to kill him for being so happy before the sun had even risen. She flipped up her hood while she glowered at him for greeting her, and he laughed.

"Don't worry; you'll feel better once we're on the road."

Eracura highly doubted this. On horseback from dawn until nightfall, for four days. Yes, it was sure to improve her disposition. She rolled her eyes, warming up the bit of Astolat's bridle before putting it in the mare's mouth. Just because Eracura was in a bad mood didn't mean she had to make Astolat as uncomfortable as she.

Eracura took the mare's reins and walked into the frigid morning air, sitting down on the ground and leaning, with a contented sigh, against the barn wall.

She must have dozed off for when she awoke, it was by Tristan's hand shaking her shoulder. "Come get breakfast with me," he said. "We're ready and the other men are not. Let them suffer for being tardy."

She smiled and took his hand, quickly turning away before he could look her full in the face beneath her hood. Syhier peeked out from where he was wrapped in Eracura's arms and cloak, licking his nose and yawning.

Tristan opened the door to the dark kitchens, and stuck his head in, peering around to make sure no one else was there. He beckoned to Eracura to follow him, and they stuffed their pockets with rolls and salted pork, while each eating an apple. Eracura had just taken her first bite out of the apple Tristan tossed her from a basket, when the door linking the kitchens and the servant quarters opened.

"Did you hear that?" whispered Tristan, and she nodded, eyes wide above the apple in her mouth. They crouched down behind the table in the center of the kitchen, just as someone entered.

Eracura peered cautiously around one of the table legs, and saw the cook. She snorted and started laughing. She couldn't help it. The cook was a short, portly man, with a balding gray head but not lacking in bright red moustache. And he was wearing a nearly transparent nightgown that was unambiguously feminine.

Tristan covered her mouth, willing her to be quiet and feeling quite young again. He and the other boys had used to sneak in here during the night, and oh, how much trouble they would get into. The cook nearly had an apoplexy when any intruded in his kitchens, or even breathed in their general direction besides he and his hand selected staff.

Eracura's breath rushed against his hand as she continued laughing silently, her long eyelashes tickling his skin and she squeezed her eyes shut, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing along with her.

"Who is in here?" yelled the cook suddenly. "I know someone's in here, now show yourself!" They heard the scraping of a blade on wood, and their wide eyes locked. Damn, that man had a sixth sense when it came to his kitchen.

Tristan uncovered her mouth, and took her hand instead. "On three," he hissed.

The cook's steps were close now, "Who is here!"

"Three!" Eracura yelled. They launched to their feet and ran as fast as they could out of the kitchens, the cook's indecipherable shouts chasing them out.

When they reached their horses, Eracura nearly collapsed from laughing, and she tilted onto the wall, sliding down. Tristan leaned against Cotovatre's side, not being able to remember the last time he had laughed.

Eracura gathered her wits and said breathlessly, "Oh, that was fun." She grinned up at Tristan, who crouched in front of her, smiling back.

"You just ask for trouble, don't you?" Over the course of the week that she had been here, she had only gone one day without being in some sort of dispute, mainly with the barmaids, who seriously ought to have known better than to pick a fight with her after she had threatened Nimiane.

She chuckled faintly, "it seems to follow me around. And hey!" she said indignantly, "_That_ was not my idea."

"What am I going to do with you?" he said softly, impulsively touching her hair.

"Get into trouble," she replied, faltering only slightly when her eyes flicked to where his hand lingered. He smirked.

"Perfect." He helped her to her feet, and they mounted just as the other men emerged.

"I'm hungry," complained Bors.

Eracura and Tristan exchanged reticent smiles as she settled Syhier between her legs, and they each took bites of their apples. Eracura urged Astolat to walk behind Arthur and Lancelot, out of the walls of the fort, still smiling.

**--------------------------------------------------**

The only people they encountered while traveling that day were two Roman patrols, and Eracura was made out to be a servant instead of a Woad who also happened to be Arthur's cousin. She found it hard to believe that so many Romans could live amongst each other and still coexist with their monstrous egos, and she told Gawain so when they set up camp that night.

He laughed. "I think it's because someone has yet to put them in their place. Yes, you can insult one, but you can't insult them all. You'd die trying." It was Eracura's turn to laugh. The air was fresh, the stars bright in the indigo sky overhead, and the moonlight through the canopy cast strange shadows upon the terrain. This was how Eracura was used to living, though it was far less comfortable in comparison to how she had been living over the past week. But, she slept well, and was in better spirits the following morning than she had been the previous one.

Again the next day, the only people they encountered were Roman patrols, but this time, Arthur didn't stop to talk, and the leader didn't bother to salute. Eracura briefly wondered why, and deciding it wasn't important, continued to study the picturesque landscape.

As they moved farther south over the next two days, the mountains faded into rolling green hills, and the trees gradually lost their height to width in foliage. And when they finally reached Aquae Sulis, Eracura thought for a time that she never wanted to leave. It was a transitory desire.

Aquae Sulis was extraordinarily beautiful. It was a city by the sea, and lacked fort walls so the scenery was visible at every angle. There was a large market, teeming with people. The goods they sold were exotic and local, wonderfully colorful and exceedingly expensive, but Eracura could not help but stare wide-eyed and open mouthed at the merchandise. She had removed her hood upon entering the city, so she could see everything easily, and soon learned that it was a mistake.

While the women whispered excitedly about Arthur and his handsome knights, when they saw Eracura, they stared blatantly; hostility in their eyes, and the Roman soldiers guarding the city pulled their swords just an inch out of their sheaths. Tristan urged Cotovatre alongside Astolat, shielding Eracura from view from the market, giving anyone that tried to peek around him the darkest look he could muster. Eracura appreciated it. Just how much, he would never know. She replaced her hood, having no desire to attract any more negative attention to Arthur than she already had done, but she kept her free hand on the hilt of her dagger, just in case.

They arrived at a large estate on the outskirts of the city, and a tall, round man with dark blond hair and olive skin in the cobblestone courtyard of the sprawling villa greeted them.

"Arthur! Arthur and his knights! I'm so pleased you could join us on such short notice," said the man, his voice surprisingly nasal for such a barreled chest. Eracura bit her finger to keep from sniggering aloud, and she heard Lancelot, who stood beside her, clear his throat as if trying to do the same. She caught his eye, and he winked at her. She gave him a slightly crooked smile.

Flavius Varo, as the man was called, informed Arthur that since the lords of the forts of the Saxon shore had brought their wives along at the last minute, only four rooms could be made available for their accommodation, and a cot in the stables for Jols, with the stable hands of the estate.

Arthur approached Eracura, and spoke to her in a low voice. "I do not want to attract anymore attention to you than you did yourself in the city, but we could possibly fit three men to one room, if you would prefer –"

She shook her head fervently. "Don't do me any favors, Arthur. It might get the both of us into a mess."

"Okay, then, would you mind sharing a room with Tristan? I know it's highly improper, but Lancelot and I have things to discuss …" he trailed off, waiting expectantly and hopefully for her response.

Yes, it was highly improper, and any decent, self-respecting, cultured young woman would demand a suitable room for herself.

"No, that's fine."


	7. VI: A Romanorum ex Certamen

**Author's Note: **Okay, guys, here's your update! Sorry about the delay; I ran into a bit of writer's block and I couldn't think of _anything_ to write, so I hope this chapter is all right. Enjoy!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**VI: _A Romanorum ex Certamen_**

"No, it's fine," she told Arthur nonchalantly.

Tristan's eyes snapped towards her, where she stood, completely calm, looking up into Arthur's grateful face. It's fine? It's _fine_? Maybe for _you!_ Tristan thought darkly. He felt a flush of irritation creeping up his neck.

Arthur clapped them both on their shoulders, smiling appreciatively. "Thank you both for being so cooperative," and he waltzed back up to where Varo stood, waiting.

Wait! Tristan felt like shouting, no one asked _me_ if it was all right! Why couldn't she bunk with Arthur? She _was_, after all, _his_ cousin. But _no,_ he and Lancelot had things to discuss, as per usual.

But, he resolved not to say anything, almost to spite himself. He gritted his teeth, and was suddenly determined to make the best of this … this intrusive, improper, inconvenient, perfectly _agonizing _situation. He looked back towards her, watching her as she absently rubbed Syhier's ears after putting him on the ground, her black hair falling around her lovely, shadowed face. _Damnit. _He swiftly averted his gaze, staring into the bleak horizon.

"I expect you've all had a very tiring journey," Varo was crooning to Arthur, "Your quarters will be ready for you as soon as you have settled your horses."

"Thank you, Lord Varo," Arthur replied, with a slight inclination of his head. After an awkward pause, in which they received Varo's asinine smile, but no direction, Arthur said finally, "Your stables?"

"Ah!" said Varo, clapping his hands; "I knew I was forgetting something; to your right, then to your left after one hundred paces. You can't miss it."

Actually, the barn would have been easily missed, as it was buried behind all of the estate's buildings, and it would have taken significantly longer to find if four hostler boys had not passed in front of them, each leading big, beautiful carriage horses.

They followed behind the carriage horses to a huge barn; Eracura had thought that Arthur's barn was big, and this was at least three times the size. She had never seen so many horses in one place before. Eracura stood agape, eyes roving over the beautiful animals, until Astolat nudged Eracura impatiently. Eracura turned, stroking the mare's black muzzle, while Arthur addressed a hostler-boy, asking him where they were to go. He coldly directed them to a group of empty stalls near the back of the barn, and Eracura was actually stunned at the boy's blatant insolence for Arthur, who, surprisingly didn't seem to mind. He dismissed it with a flippant, "I've been treated worse by better people," while removing his stallion's saddle.

Eracura returned to Astolat, rubbing the mare down. Well, if his disrespect didn't concern Arthur, then she wouldn't let it distress her, either.

She tended to speculate though, if servants had treated them so, the men and women calling themselves nobles who had ghastly mannerisms bred into their blood since birth would surely not speak to them a fraction better.

**--------------------------------------------------**

After tending their horses, she and Tristan were guided to their quarters by an attractive, petite servant girl by the name of Aurelia, who also happened to be very, _very_ talkative. She informed them that dinner would be served in two hours, which would provide them with just enough time to wash in the bath house – their _private_ bath house, mind, for every four rooms of the entire estate shared a bath house, she boasted, through an absurd smile that looked as though it had been plastered on.

Eracura found her quite vexing, especially the suggestive way she looked up at Tristan, batting her long eyelashes over her shining green eyes.

Aurelia ushered them into their quarters, a plain, but serviceable room with two beds on opposite sides of the room, and a large hearth in the exact center of the back wall, before which laid a large bearskin rug.

Eracura chose the bed on the south side of the room, and dumped her pack on the bed, making a show of removing her clothing in a vain attempt to try and ignore Aurelia and Tristan.

"You should come and see me tonight," Aurelia said, and Eracura whipped around after placing Syhier on the bed so that he could investigate. Aurelia stood close to Tristan, pressing her ample bosom into him, tracing her fingers along the stitching in his leather jerkin. She tossed her long, deep red hair over one shoulder, biting her full bottom lip. With a dismissive glance towards Eracura, who still had not shown her face, Aurelia added, "your friend can come too."

Tristan snorted, and Eracura bit her lip to swallow her amusement, dumping her swords and daggers onto the bed and was tremendously satisfied with the dull, but loud _clunk_ they made. This startled Aurelia and made her frown disdainfully towards Eracura, who had removed her cloak and turned around to face them, hands upon her hips.

"No, thank you," said Eracura, smiling at the shocked way Aurelia stared at her. She stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to say. "You're not my sort."

"You can go now," Tristan told her, in a coldly polite tone. Aurelia glared up at him, then back at Eracura, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted. She looked back to Tristan, making her way towards the door.

"You'd rather spend the night with a _witch_ than with me," she jerked open the door, and stepped out into the hallway, "So the _great_ Sarmatian knights are not so respectable, after all."

Tristan strode quickly to the door, and said, his voice like ice, "I don't think spending the night with _you_ would make me any more respectable," and he shut the door in her furious face.

As much as Eracura hated to admit it, the girl's jealous words had struck one of her few and more sensitive nerves. She slumped down onto the bed, and Syhier climbed into her lap as she rested her chin in her hand.

"Not a very friendly place, is it?" Eracura shook her head in reply, even though his back was turned to her and she knew he could not see.

Tristan turned to look at her, and she was staring, as though transfixed at a dark stain on the cold stone floor while Syhier licked her arm.

"Hey," he said softly, touching her thin shoulder, "are you alright?"

"Fine," she replied shortly. Then, sitting up straighter to look up at him, she explained, "I've never been called a witch before."

Tristan gave a short laugh, "is that what is bothering you? Well, you aren't, so you shouldn't let women like that hassle you." Her only response was looking away, avoiding his gaze. "You _aren't_, right?" He didn't believe she was, for even a moment, but he had to ask.

"I don't know. I've heard the other men refer to my Father as a witch, so does that make me one, as well?"

"Who is your - " he stopped himself short, recalling the only Woad they had ever called a witch, "your Father is Merlin?" She nodded, and he sat down beside her, heaving a lengthy exhale and receiving a lick to his hand from Syhier, who was now nestled comfortably between them.

After a long silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Eracura said, "so what's your verdict?"

"You're not a witch. And neither is your Father."

She gave him a small smile, "My thanks."

He patted her on the back. "Come; we should clean up for dinner."

"I'm suddenly not hungry."

He gave her a measured stare through his forelock of dark hair. "Liar." She sighed, but did not say anything. "I'll have some food sent in for the both of you."

"Thank you," she replied. She followed him to the door; "Have fun," she said sarcastically.

He groaned, and continued down the hall to the bathhouse. She closed the door, and leaned back against it with a sigh, smiling in a way that could only be described as wistful.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eventually, Eracura got a fire going, and she sat on the bearskin rug beside it, playing with Syhier until he fell asleep curled up on her belly. She dozed off while rubbing his soft fur and watching the flames in the hearth, and it was some time until a persistent knocking roused her.

Eracura gently transferred Syhier from her belly to the floor, and trotted to the door, throwing it open to find a young girl holding a basket of food.

She curtsied shyly and said, "Your friend … the … knight … he sent me."

"Oh," Eracura smiled, and her stomach rumbled suddenly, "Well, thank you." She took the basket from the girl, whose brown eyes strayed downwards to where Syhier was lingering at Eracura's heels.

The girl's cupid's-bow mouth formed a small _o_ and she crouched, holding out her hand. Syhier smelled her fingers, and licked her. "Oh how cute," she said.

"Uh, do you want to join us?" Eracura invited. The girl was rather emaciated; she could use some good food and some company.

The girl straightened immediately, looking shocked at Eracura's invitation. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "I _am_ finished my chores. Would you mind much?"

"No," said Eracura, "come in."

They sat by the fire, and the girl, who Eracura learned was called Lindara, fed Syhier milk from an extra goat's-belly bottle that the wet nurse used when she wasn't feeling up to actually nursing.

During a companionable silence, in which a very full Syhier ambled over to Eracura, crawling into her lap and promptly falling asleep, Lindara seemed pensive, and Eracura watched her struggle through some inner turmoil.

"What's the matter?" she finally asked.

"Aurelia …" said Lindara.

"I don't like her," Eracura replied firmly.

"No, neither do I; I never have. She's going around the estate telling everyone you're a witch."

Eracura snorted. "Do you believe that?"

Lindara looked up at her, and shook her head. "I've never met anyone like you, before. You're one of the blue people, from north of the wall." It wasn't a question, but neither was it an accusation. It was a simple statement, and Eracura nodded her head.

"Yes, I am."

"How did you come to be here? And in the company of the knights?"

"You mustn't tell anyone; I'm not sure how it would affect his reputation," said Eracura.

Lindara's mouth widened, "you're the … the lover of the knight who sent me here!" she speculated. Eracura was taken aback, and was not quite sure that she had heard Lindara correctly. The childlike, expecting look on Lindara's face confirmed she had indeed heard properly. Then she laughed until tears ran down her face. "What?" Lindara demanded crossly.

She laughed again, and finally managed, "no, I am _not_ his lover."

Lindara blushed deeply. "Sorry. Romantic fancies and all that."

"I am Arthur's cousin," Eracura told her finally.

"Cousin to the great Arthur Castus? But how? He is a Roman."

"He is _half_ Roman," Eracura corrected. "His Mother was my Mother's sister. A Woad."

"Oh, I see."

Eracura smiled, "not nearly as interesting as your version." Lindara blushed again, and was momentarily lost for words.

"Have you ever thought about it?"

Eracura raised one eyebrow, watching Lindara as she took a bite out of a roll. "Thought about what?"

Lindara rolled her eyes impatiently. "Being that man's lover, of course; the one with the tattoos on his cheeks. I can see how you could; I mean … he is _dreadfully_ handsome. Though, they all are. How I envy you."

Eracura smiled, and then sighed. "Yes, I've thought about it." Lindara looked at her, tilting her head to one side. "He wouldn't have me," Eracura assured the young girl.

"Have you asked?"

"Of course not!" Eracura laughed.

"Then how do you know?"

"He is a knight, and I am a Woad. His _duty_ is to kill my people. For all intents and purposes, we are theoretically enemies."

"So? Sometimes a rivalry sparks the best romance."


	8. VII: An Eximius Inopportunitas

**Author's Note: **Fluff warning! I don't know why I seem to not be able to write anything non-fluffy right now, but I promise, this story will get better. I hope that you all still like it, even though it is boring and … well, fluffy.

Anyway, thank you again to all of my lovely reviewers. I really appreciate you all and I look forward to more feedback.

Sorry for the delay; I was away this weekend and just could not seem to be satisfied with this chapter. I'm still really not, but oh well. I'm tempted to just skip right over the boring things like this to get to the good stuff, but that's just …weird.

Anyway, enjoy!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**VII: _An Eximius Inopportunitas_**

Eracura could not think of anything to rebuff her words, for they so caught her off guard. Here she was, a _completely _romantically innocent twenty-year-old woman – _girl_, really - listening to the rambling quixotic fancies of a girl two years her junior. Lindara was not at all afraid to open up and say what was on her mind when it came to love, it seemed, which proved to Eracura that a life upon a battlefield was harder on more parts of a person than could originally be concluded.

"I should go," said Lindara, seeing the brooding manner in which Eracura studied the room.

At first, Eracura did not seem to hear her, but when Lindara pushed herself to her feet, Eracura looked up at the girl, "Oh … no, you don't have to."

Lindara smiled. "I've imposed on your generous hospitality long enough."

"It's no imposition," Eracura assured her.

Lindara waved her hand in the air with a smile, "I'll come to see you tomorrow, if it's alright."

"Sure."

"I hear it's going to storm tonight," said Lindara, "make sure you get some more firewood, from the storeroom beside the bathhouse."

"Thank you." Lindara showed herself out, and Eracura was left with much to reflect upon. She changed into the white shift she had taken to wearing to bed, and cuddled into the furs on her bed with Syhier snuggled at the back of her slightly tucked knees.

She closed her eyes, willing sleep to find her to release her mind from the turmoil Lindara had unwittingly sparked. Words so simple as _"So? Sometimes a rivalry sparks the best romance." _should not have made Eracura as restless as they had done. She had always taken things far too seriously. Adonis had constantly told her so.

In all truth, Eracura had barely given love, beyond the love for her family and country a second thought, which is most likely why she found it so problematic to make sense of tonight. Damn that man for perplexing her so. She frowned, and pounded her pillow with her fist, albeit halfheartedly.

She flopped onto her back, displacing a rather disgruntled Syhier to the foot of the bed to avoid her unpredictable movement, and wondered; if her rather difficult life had been so cruel to her heart, what had Tristan's done to his? He was a man, taken from his homeland at a young age, forced to serve fifteen years under a despised Roman banner, fighting for a cause that he did not believe in. This new revolution gave Eracura some unexpected insight to Tristan's detached demeanor. His brothers-in-arms were, in reality, the only family he knew. Surely losing them would cause him great pain, resulting in a man that was less than enthusiastic to love, or confess to feel.

Come to think of it, she mused, she'd never seen him with a woman the way the other knights were when in the tavern, she'd never seen him leave with a woman – though, she reasoned, if Tristan didn't want them to, one would not be able to see him do much of anything. She'd never seen him kiss, laugh, flirt … nothing, for which she was selfishly grateful. He hardly even spoke to women, besides her (what if he didn't see her as a woman? She was horrified at the thought), excusing the usual gruff demand for sustenance. Did he even _like_ women? Of course he did, she quickly assured herself. Of _course_ he did!

Gradually, her thoughts dispersed, leaving her completely exhausted, and her last memory of that night was Syhier padding up the bed to curl up beside her ear.

**--------------------------------------------------**

When Tristan arrived to the room from dinner, Eracura was fast asleep, her nose and the left side of her face buried in Syhier's shady fur. He had been frustrated with thoughts of her all evening, which could not have been muted for Bors' regular reminding him of her by offering lewd advice. Tristan had finally gotten irritated enough to hiss threateningly to Bors that if he didn't shut his mouth soon, he would cut out his tongue.

That had simply caused a rather raucously drunk Bors to laugh heartily and pat Tristan on the back, but he didn't say anything else to Tristan of what he should do with Eracura upon returning to their room. Yes, she was going to be sharing a room with Tristan for however long they decided to remain at Varo's estate, and _yes_, Tristan was fully aware of this fact, and for Bors, had their roles been reversed, this situation would be all too convenient for him and his unstinting lust.

She was also casually mentioned by the knights throughout dinner, at which point Bors would give Tristan a meaningful look that he pretended to ignore. He had been tempted several times to get up and leave, but that would draw far too much attention to himself than he was particularly used to, and where would he go? Back to the room where Eracura's aura enveloped and suffocated him? No, certainly not.

So he remained, seated between Bors and Gawain. He had, however, opted to leave as soon as Aurelia and three other girls had been summoned by Varo to perform provocative tabletop dancing. The other knights called after him, telling him to stay for it would be worth it, and he was vaguely aware of Bors' shout, "He's got better things to do!" as he left the dining hall.

And now here he was, in bed, a mere few feet away from her. He couldn't understand what exactly it was about her that was so riveting to him. She was beautiful, almost ethereal, and he had seen his share of beautiful women. There was more to her than beauty. She lived with a sort of passion that Tristan had never experienced, and it shone through her eyes and her skin and every facet of her being. He found her fascinating. She was mysterious and sensitive, yet strong of body and of mind, and seemed at some times to be a walking contradiction to everything he had thought to be true of Woads. She was sweet and kind until provoked, and it wasn't difficult to aggravate her, at which point her persona could change in a second to someone who was equally as threatening as she was beautiful. He sighed, running his hands over his tired face. After so long of never allowing his heart to be touched by a woman, how could this girl have such an impact on him?

He closed his eyes and resolved to sleep, and failed dismally.

**--------------------------------------------------**

By morning, the sky was overcast and gray, and rain was falling steadily but lightly from the sky. When Eracura awoke, closer to dawn than to noon, but still later than usual, Tristan was already gone. He had gone to sleep later than she had, and had still arisen earlier.

She rolled out of bed, falling onto her hands and knees on the floor. Syhier followed eagerly, restless as he had been for the past half an hour, and Eracura dressed quickly, deciding that he needed to relieve himself. She opened the door and he bounded out into the hall, her chasing after him. Occasionally, on their way out, he'd turn around to make sure she still followed, and then resume his clumsy sprint towards the outside.

He quickly found a patch of grass on the side of the building that he deemed suitable, and Eracura inhaled deeply the smell of the rain, letting the water soak her skin and dress. She looked out towards the horizon, where dark thunderheads were rolling in, and she shivered.

"Hey!" hissed a voice from behind her. Eracura spun to see Lancelot leaning out the doorway, "Get your ass in here before you freeze."

She grinned, and bent to scoop Syhier up in her arms and came to stand beside Lancelot. "Good morning," she said.

He glared up at the sky, "I feel it will take a dive from here, but yours is a lovely face to see so early." He winked at her.

"Early?" she demurred, "It is nearly noon."

He scoffed; "it is still too early to be awake." She gave him a mocking stare, which he ignored.

They walked slowly towards the dining hall in companionable silence, until Eracura firmed her resolve to ask the question that had been niggling the back of her mind.

"Lancelot," she said, and he looked down at her, "I've been meaning to ask you a question."

He grinned and threw his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "I knew this day would come," he said. He looked down into her skeptical face and continued, "It was only a matter of time."

"I've been meaning to ask you a question about Tristan." His face fell and so did his arm, and he snapped his fingers.

"So close," he whispered.

"Not even," she replied, and he smiled.

"That bugger! He should be so lucky," he said gloomily.

"Don't worry, Lancelot. You're a handsome fellow, with no lack of ladies," she reminded him.

"That's true," he said, running one large hand through his thick black hair, "they just can't resist me." He looked down at her, and as an afterthought added, "except you." She laughed outright at this, and he nudged her in the side with his elbow. "Anyway, what was your question?"

"Right. Does he even … _like_ women?"

Lancelot chuckled, and returned his arm to her shoulders. "I believe so, yes."

"You _believe_ so?"

He nodded, still chuckling. "You see, I've never seen him with a woman before, though there has never been a lack of female interest in him. I suppose women see him as a sort of mystery they're determined to solve." Eracura huffed indignantly, but Lancelot hushed her. " I didn't say _you_, dear, I said, _women_, as in generally."

"And what am I, a duck?" Lancelot laughed heartily, hugging her.

"No, no, sweetheart. You are not, though, a typical woman by any means."

She nodded her head slightly, trying to find the compliment. "Thank you?"

They turned into the corridor leading to the double-doors of the dining hall, and Lancelot took her firmly by both shoulders, turning her to face him. He gave her a penetrating look that made Eracura squirm uncomfortably, and said, "Honestly, Eracura, I've never seen him look at anyone the way he's been looking at you."

Eracura's eyebrows slowly rose; widening her eyes, and her mouth fell slightly agape. "Really?"

"Really." Her face brightened with a wide grin, and Eracura felt giddy as a young girl.

Tristan was not in the dining hall, and Eracura felt her heart droop slightly, though almost nothing could lessen her mood at this point. She ate quickly to avoid the nobles, then made her way to the bathhouse. Bathing in warm water almost every day was something she had grown fond of while at the fort, and something she did not want to forfeit in the near future. She opened the door to the bathhouse, and there was a very naked Tristan in the water, accompanied by a very naked Aurelia, kissing his mouth.

Eracura gasped, horrified at herself mostly, and Tristan heard it, spinning towards her just as she closed the door. She heard him call her name as she jogged down the hallway, Syhier in her arms. She passed the door to their room. She couldn't go in there, not yet, and so she continued on to the barn and into Astolat's stable where she sat in the hay and cried.


	9. VIII: Tenax Mens

**Author's Note: **Again, fluff warning. Every romance needs fluff, but I believe I am pushing my limits. Feel free to chastise me if you agree.

Two updates in one day! I'm setting a personal record.

Anyway, enjoy, I hope!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**VIII: _Tenax Mens_**

Tristan had risen at dawn that same day after a very restless sleep, and as the other knights and Eracura had not yet awakened, he had gone for a half an hour ride in the rain, sending Ceday out to hunt. When he had returned, he had eaten breakfast with Arthur, Gawain and Galahad, and passed Dagonet and Bors on their way to the dining hall to go to the bathhouse.

He had stripped down, and submerged himself, the warmth a welcome relief from the chill of the rain. He leaned against the back rim of the bath facing the door, closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the cold marble floor. His peace was short lived. He heard the door open, and looked up. Aurelia stood there, her dress around her ankles.

Against his will, Tristan's eyes took a quick sweep up her body, which was slender and well rounded, then stared stoically at her face. She was smiling in a rather maniacal way, he thought, like a wolf watching her prey. He assumed she meant it to be seductive, as she slipped into the water and moved closer to him. He moved away as she tried to press her body to him.

"Do you not find me attractive?" she pressed, running her fingernails over his chest. He simply stared at her, his mouth pressed into a firm line. She looked towards his chest, still smiling. "I certainly am more attractive than your witch."

Tristan bristled at this, and he grabbed her hands, forcing them away from him. His face was stormy, and for a moment she looked intimidated. He pushed her roughly away from him. "_Never_ refer to her as that again, you filthy whore," he hissed.

"Oh," she said, her voice husky, "I like it rough."

He frowned at her. Was she serious? Could she not understand when to admit defeat?

"I don't want your attentions," he said, making it perfectly clear to her that he wasn't attracted to her. Aurelia stood close to him now, their thighs and chests touching.

"Perhaps this will change your mind," and she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth.

At that exact moment, as bad fortune would have it, Eracura opened the door and saw them.

She looked as horrified as Tristan felt, and she disappeared as soon as Tristan managed to free himself from Aurelia's hold on a rather vital body part.

"Eracura!" he yelled, but she was gone.

Aurelia looked triumphant when he cast his smoldering gaze down upon her after scrambling out of the bath. He didn't bother to dry himself, but uttered several indecipherable threats in Aurelia's direction as he hastily dressed. "It does _not_ change my mind."

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura was not sure how long she sat in the barn until she finally calmed down. She was leaning against Astolat's forelegs, beneath her belly, as the mare munched casually on her hay, when someone entered. More than one someone, in fact, and Eracura huddled closer to Astolat's legs.

The three male voices were loud and raucous, with the distinct Roman undertone of hauteur. The mare tensed as they passed, for Eracura's fingers dug into her legs, as if by holding on as tight as possible they wouldn't see her. They didn't see her, but Syhier saw them.

Yapping outrageously, he loped after them, and the man nearest to where Syhier sat growling with his hackles up, turned around and laughed amusedly at him. Syhier would one day grow to be intimidating, but this was not that day.

"Hello there, little one," said the man, his voice pleasantly deep and lilting.

Eracura peeked cautiously around the wall of the stall to see out, and the man, tall and blond and lean, had crouched down onto his haunches to pet Syhier, who growled slightly before leaning forward to sniff the man's thick fingers.

"Syhier," she hissed, "come here!"

The man looked up and saw the half of her face that was peeking around the stall, and smiled. He picked up Syhier in one large hand and stood, making his way over to where Eracura had stood.

He seemed surprised to see that she was just as tall as him, but he studied her openly and smiled.

"I believe," he said gently, looking her in the eye with light brown ones of his own, "that this belongs to you." He handed her Syhier and she returned his smile.

"Thank you," she said.

"What a lucky little fur ball he is," said the man, "to live by the side of one as lovely as you." She cleared her throat and flushed. She had never received as many compliments in all of her life as she had these past weeks since being reunited with Arthur.

This man was not handsome; his tan skin was deeply pockmarked, his proud nose was crooked and his jaw was dented, but he had an indescribable charm in his eyes, one that both endeared him to her in the slightest possible way, and made her wary of him.

"Thank you again," she said, and he inclined his head, and walked away to join his companions. She didn't watch him go. Instead, she slipped out of the stall and practically sprinted out of the barn.

She took a risk, and peeked into the door of the room she shared with Tristan, and breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered he was not there. He had probably gone back to Aurelia's room with her, she thought bitterly. Eracura threw open the door and stepped momentarily inside to gather a fresh dress that was not covered in hay and dirt and stained by her tears, and took an even greater risk by peeking into the bathhouse. It was, thankfully, deserted, which reinforced Eracura's suspicions of Tristan's new relations with Aurelia.

She gritted her teeth and removed her clothes. She resolutely decided to put it from her mind and relax and she immersed herself in the water. Eracura felt the tension drift from her muscles with the caress of the warm water, but it did not put her mind at ease. Especially when the door opened and in strode Tristan, looking flustered.

She immediately covered her upper body from view, knowing that unless he strained to look, he could see nothing below her waist. "What are you doing here!" she spluttered indignantly. Peering facetiously around him, her face clouding, she said, "Where's Aurelia?"

He glared, and closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry for bursting in on you like this," he began, "but I feel that I owe you an explanation."

She snorted, "You owe me nothing, Tristan."

He nodded, licking his lips. He always did that, she noticed, a subconscious habit, most likely. She liked the way he folded the full lips of his gently down turned mouth and stuck the tip of his tongue out to wet them, while his dark brown eyes studied his feet almost sheepishly.

_Stop it_! She told herself firmly, squeezing her eyes shut. When he continued speaking, she looked up at him almost defiantly, and she could almost see him balk at the fire in her eyes.

"I know I don't _need_ to explain myself, but I feel that I should. After all, you did walk in on … _that_ - " he spat it out as though he were sickened by it, and Eracura softened. It had never occurred to her that perhaps, it had been against his will. He had, she remembered now, refused Aurelia's lavish attentions of last night. " – and I believe you should know the truth."

"Alright," she said, "if you feel so strongly about it."

He sat down on the bench beside the tub, and looked at her, meeting her eye.

"I do. I was just bathing and she threw herself at me," he said bluntly. Eracura blinked, frowning slightly.

"You didn't ask for it?"

"No!" he replied adamantly. The vehemence of his response took Eracura aback, and she had to admit she was more than relieved; she was positively euphoric. She swallowed the bubbling laughter in her throat, and shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Okay," she said.

"You don't believe me?"

"No, I do," she replied. "I'm just not sure why you told me. It is none of my business, your interests in women."

He nodded, licking his lips again, and stood. "Well, okay then." She had never seen him look so awkward, and she felt guilty, somehow.

"Okay," she said. He looked into her eyes, then left.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Tristan felt an odd sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He had told her the truth, only to discover she didn't care either way. He meandered to the dining hall, where the other knights were engrossed in conversation with the lords of the eastern forts, and slipped in unnoticed by all except Gawain, beside whom he assumed a seat.

He was no great contributor to their conversations, for his mind was preoccupied, and he was lucky that questions and topics were not directed solely or in any way at him. Perhaps they could sense his brooding mood, but he appreciated their lack of his inclusion in any event.

He had never not been able to concentrate in a meeting before, and he almost hated Eracura for doing this to him. Did she think he couldn't see her looking at him when she thought he didn't detect her gaze, the way she smiled at him with her eyes as well as her lips? Could she possibly imagine that he had not once sensed her emotions for him? Damn her and her damnable intractability. As soon as he thought it, he regretted it, for he realized then just how much of a hypocrite he was in that moment. If she was mulish, what did that make him?


	10. IX: A Vitualamen Animus

**Author's Note: **We get to learn a little more about Lindara in this chapter; I think she's a fairly interesting character, and she'll make an interesting partner for a certain knight. ;)

Still a bit fluffy, but it gets better here, and I hope that you agree! Yay!

Enjoy, I hope!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**IX: _A Vitualamen Animus_**

Lindara was true to her word and she joined Eracura for dinner again that night. Eracura was in a foul mood before Lindara arrived, and she was glad for her company. They spoke of nothing and no one in particular, for two hours, and Eracura was truly beginning to consider Lindara a friend.

"I don't have many friends," Lindara admitted, when Eracura told her of what she felt was friendship, "so you are truly unique."

Eracura gave a short laugh, "so I've been told." As an afterthought she asked, "why don't you have many friends?"

Lindara looked at her, repositioning her arm around Syhier, whom she was feeding in her lap. "My Grandmother was a slave, from Egypt." Eracura had never before heard of Egypt, and she said so, "It's in northern Africa," Lindara clarified, "a country far to the south." Lindara continued her story, and Eracura discovered that her Grandmother had been a full-blooded Egyptian dancer, slave to a Roman Legate in Egypt, and they had fallen in love, and married in secrecy. Her Grandmother had gotten pregnant with her Mother, and the Legate's armies had been ordered to join another Legion. With the Legate having been discharged for the time being, they had decided to travel to his home in Constantinople. They had naively believed that none had discovered their secret.

Upon their arrival in Constantinople, they were not permitted access to his home, for another occupied it now. The Legate had been disgraced and stripped of his titles and possessions. They traveled now to Britain, and arrived shortly after Lindara's Mother had been born, staying with the Legate's brother – a draft dodger and therefore dishonored. The Legate's brother took his dishonor seriously, and was a sinister man, who was madly in lust with his brother's wife.

When Lindara's Mother was just thirteen, the Legate's brother killed her Mother in a lustful rage after she had refused him, and the Legate deemed his brother's home unsafe for his beloved daughter and sent her here, to Varo's estate, before it had been inherited by Flavius Varo from his Uncle.

Lindara's Mother earned her keep by entertaining the soldiers of the fort with her beautiful, exotic dancing, and when she was just fifteen, she was impregnated, and the Father never took responsibility.

"My Mother did tell me who he was, while she lay on her deathbed three years ago," Lindara said, her voice sad and bitter. "I am the bastard child of an accused slave-witch and a Roman priest."

Eracura stared at her, dumbfounded. "But I thought …"

"You thought right," Lindara replied, "Roman priests aren't supposed to have sexual relations. When my Mother informed him that I was his child the year before she died, he beat her and accused her of witchcraft, saying that if I was indeed his child, she had cast a spell upon him so that she could have his body."

"Oh …" said Eracura thoughtfully, "then what happened?"

"She was not a witch. She was beautiful and desirable and could ensnare a man's senses in the way she moved. The priest … he was _enraptured _by her, and raped her, and spawned me, to my everlasting shame."

Eracura hugged Lindara then, knowing that no words could comfort the girl at this point, and Lindara was grateful to her, and said so.

"You are my friend," Eracura told her.

Lindara smiled and looked out the window, her eyes distant, and said, "it is growing late; I should be going. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Eracura nodded, and walked her to the door. She transferred Syhier from her arms to Eracura's, and bade her goodnight. Eracura looked around her empty, painfully dull room and decided to go to the stables instead. Grooming the horses would be a far better use of her time than lying around here. She strapped one of her daggers onto the inside of her thighs, just to be safe, and left.

The rain had subsided, but the ground was soaked and messy and the footing precarious as she made her way to the barn. Astolat and the other horses were restless; they weren't accustomed to being dormant for long periods of time. If the knights weren't on a mission, they always made time to ride.

Eracura was finishing grooming a gleaming white Hocequin when someone arrived. Eracura was mostly concealed for the shadow of the stall, but felt a little uneasy when she saw the Roman officer who had flirted with her earlier enter the barn.

Syhier growled, and the man turned, and Eracura cursed the wolf for the first and last time in that moment. The man's smile told Eracura that he had seen her, and he approached.

"I was looking for solitude when I came here," said he, leaning on the stall door.

"Then I will grant it to you," she said hastily, and she ducked under the railing of the stall, trying to escape to the doorway. He caught her arm, and pulled her rather roughly back to him.

They were so close that when he spoke next, Eracura could smell the alcohol on his breath, not that she would have needed to be very near to him to do so. "Your company is better than solace, fair lady." She turned her head away, stomach rolling at the scent.

The hand that was not grasping her arm grabbed her side, then roved down over her hip and towards her buttocks. She squirmed, disgusted and frightened, and pushed him away with all of her might. He stumbled away, and she backed away from him, watching him cautiously.

He smiled maliciously and approached her, grabbing her shoulders so hard that she winced in pain, as her flesh was ground into the hollows of her bones, and attempted to kiss her. She bit his bottom lip when it came close to her mouth, and he yanked away, bleeding, and slapped her.

She fell sideways into the post of Cotovatre's stall, and the mare whinnied shrilly, startling Ceday, who had been sleeping in the rafters. The hawk squawked crossly, and swooped out of the door.

Eracura steadied herself, wiped her mouth quickly, and hiked up her skirts to get a hand on her dagger.

"That's more like it!" cried the man, storming up to her and wrenching her head back by her hair.

She growled in her throat like an animal, and drew her dagger, pressing it firmly into his abdomen, just above his crotch. He stopped, and looked, stunned, into her murderous face.

"If you ever even _look_ at me again," she said, her voice strangled, "I will, I promise you, ensure that the company of a woman will be the last thing on your mind!"

He gritted his teeth, grinding them hard together, and Eracura wondered briefly if he would not heed her warning and advance on her again. But he backed away, and with one last glance at her, strode out of the barn.

Eracura's knees were shaking beneath her, and she sat down hard upon the ground. She brought her knees up to her forehead and sat there, drawing deep, unsteady breaths. Syhier slipped himself in the tiny crevasse between her heels and hips, slinking almost apologetically, and she stroked his head.

When she had calmed herself, she stood. It was cold here, and she was shivering, and no good luck would come to her when she was alone. With every intention of returning to her room, to sit gratefully before the fire whether Tristan was there or not, she wandered out of the barn. It was raining softly again, and she slowed her pace to drink in the peace of the night.

Just as she rounded the corner of the barn that would lead her to the guest quarters, she was seized from behind. A large, rough hand covered her mouth, and a thick arm squeezed around her torso.

Instinctively, Eracura elbowed the man in the liver, and hastened away, only to collide with the armored chests of two more men. Fear twisted in her gut as she looked into the face of the bastard from the barn; she would not be able to defend herself against all three of them! She brandished her dagger before her, even though the situation was hopeless, and Syhier growled at them, as menacingly as he could.

The man from the barn laughed mockingly at them. "What a pair you two make," he said, "a witch and her _puppy_. Helpless." He looked down at Syhier, then to one of the other soldiers. "Shut him up!" He ordered. The soldier bent over to grab him, but he darted away and out of sight, for which Eracura was relieved. They would kill him, if they caught him. The man shrugged and signaled to the other soldiers to seize Eracura.

Her arm whipped out, slicing one of the soldiers' bicep, then spun, cutting the other along his cheekbone. They fell back, eyeing her with sudden caution, and then another contemptuous laugh sounded from behind her.

Eracura turned, and let her dagger arm fall to her side when she saw Aurelia standing there, her pretty face masked by hatred and accompanied by an old, stringy-haired priest.

"All alone, witch?" Aurelia spat, "Not so great without your knights, are you?" Eracura narrowed her eyes at her, but did not rise to her bait. "Did you really think," she mused, "that you would leave here unscathed? We know how to deal with witches, even when the great Arthur Castus does not." Eracura swallowed hard, but did not reveal her dread.

"It is for your own good," said the priest, taking a step forward. His voice was gentle, as though he thought he could make her understand how offending she was to them. "You must be sacrificed, to save your soul and the souls of the knights you have contaminated. Your life is a burden on this earth; your coming here misfortune for us all."

"Seize her!" Aurelia ordered, and Eracura was detained, shackled and beaten. Though it must have only been several seconds, they were long and grueling and felt like years.

Eracura was dragged through the mud, bleeding and drifting in and out of consciousness, and thrown into a cold stone cell, and left there. She was informed, that if she had not frozen to death by morning, Flavius Varo would oversee her beheading at dawn.


	11. X: Brevis Term Fortuna

**Author's Note: **Okay, so nothing super interesting in this chapter, but I still hope that you all like it. I've updated a lot, recently, and I have a feeling that my writing quality is slipping because of it. Please, _please_ inform me immediately if you agree, and give me some suggestions.

Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers; especially **BlackKnight 63**.

Thank you, and enjoy, hopefully!

**--------------------------------------------------**

**X: _Brevis Term Fortuna_**

Tristan was heading towards their room when he saw Syhier race into the hallway, skidding to a halt at his feet. He crouched to pet the wolf's head, but the wolf was agitated and restless, and he would not allow Tristan to touch him for more than a few seconds at a time. He paced a few feet out of Tristan's reach, then shoved his muzzle into his hand, and then looked out towards the door.

Tristan followed his gaze, and saw no sign of Eracura, who should have been following within seconds. He became apprehensive. Eracura and Syhier were basically inseparable, and here was Syhier with Eracura nowhere in sight.

He grabbed Syhier and walked to the door, peering anxiously into the darkness. She was covertness itself when it concerned others, but she could never hide from him, and she was not here.

He stepped out into the courtyard, his heart beating a painful tattoo in his chest, and the clouds in the indigo sky parted, the moonlight reflecting from something almost completely covered by mud catching his ardent eye. He put Syhier on the ground and walked carefully over to it, never removing his gaze. Tristan picked it up, holding it horizontally in his right hand, and nearly vomited for the adrenaline in his veins.

It was Eracura's dagger. Syhier whined behind him, and Tristan remained rooted to the spot, his entire world spinning from its axis around him. Where was she, what had happened to her? He had never felt this kind of absolute terror before. He could feel the blood draining from his head, leaving him dizzy and sick.

Thunder cracked above his head, snapping him from his trance, and Syhier whimpered, sidling closer to Tristan's legs. Tristan scooped the wolf into his arms, just as another boom of thunder shook the atmosphere. He turned around and headed back into the building, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him into the dining hall. He barely saw the stunned faces of the other knights when he burst into the room, and he found himself shouting, "Eracura's gone!"

They were all taken aback by his outburst. For a man who rarely spoke, he certainly had a pair of lungs on him that commanded an attentive audience. Only Arthur seemed unfazed by Tristan's transformation; he was not, though, unfazed by his tidings. He had gone rather pale as he stood unsteadily, using the back of his chair as a makeshift crutch.

"What …" he whispered, though his voice resounded.

Tristan approached him, and handed him the dagger, "I found this. Without her."

Arthur swallowed with difficulty, grasping a handful of the fabric of Tristan's tunic on his shoulder. "Oh no …"

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura awoke with a start when thunder shook the insecure roofing of the dungeon she was now resident of. She was stiff from head to toe, and felt as though the skin of the side she was laying on was frozen to the flagstone. Her head ached, as did her ribs. She sat up gingerly, touching the corner of her mouth that was throbbing slightly, and blood oozed onto her fingertips.

She leaned back against the wall, watching the rain pour onto the already sodden ground from the open door of the building, through the bars of her cell. _Bars_. She shivered. She had never been trapped before, and here she was, caged like an animal. The animal _they_ believed she was.

Eracura wanted to cry, but she knew it would only worsen her headache and would not help her situation in the least. She let her head fall back against the wall with a groan. She would die here, in this horrid place with these equally horrid people. She had not choice but to accept it.

Dimly, she could hear footsteps sloshing in the mud outside, frenzied. "Eracura!" It was Lindara. She rattled the bars of the cell as she sat down on the floor, and Eracura crawled over to her, clutching her extended hand.

"How did you know that I was here?"

"I heard Aurelia talking about it to her husband. They mean to kill you, Eracura! They think that your coming here brings the wrath of the gods, and that your being sacrificed will appease them!"

It took Eracura a moment to register that Lindara was crying, and that tears had escaped her own eyes. She nodded, "I know."

"I won't let them!" Lindara hissed fervently.

"You have no choice," Eracura murmured, looking at the ground. They were silent for a spell, clinging to each other, and Lindara finally broke the stillness.

"Your knights," she hummed, "they won't let them." She rose to her feet, squeezing Eracura's fingers.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Arthur," she said, and she disappeared.

Eracura watched her go through teary eyes, and let her forehead fall onto the bars, a cold, hopeless knot forming in her heart. She wanted to believe that he would help her; she just could not bring herself to hope.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Arthur was reseated in his chair, his white knuckles pressing against his temples. Tristan stood beside him expectantly. What were they going to do? What was _he_ going to do?

Galahad was seated beside Lancelot on the table in front of Bors and Dagonet, and Gawain was leaning against the wall behind Tristan. No one spoke. Eracura, Arthur's Woad wench of a cousin, with her fiery temper and quick tongue and generally yielding nature, had come to mean more to them all than they cared to admit.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, with a heavy and disparaging sigh, rubbing his large hands over his weary face. As his hands dropped to the table, the door burst open, and they all turned eagerly, hoping upon frantic hope that it was Eracura.

It wasn't, and Tristan felt his fleetingly optimistic heart sink to his shoes. It was a young girl, pretty face blotchy from tears and from the cold, her waist-length, deep chestnut hair dampened from rain and wildly windblown.

Galahad gave her a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look that passed unnoticed by her as she scanned the room. When she saw Arthur, she immediately sped to his side. Tristan moved out of her way, having no desire to be bowled over.

This girl was on a mission.

She bobbed a curtsy to Arthur, and introduced herself, "my name is Lindara. I'm a maid here, and a recent friend of your cousin, Eracura." Instantaneously, she was surrounded by the men, their expressions impatient.

Arthur stood, towering over Lindara, and he grasped her shoulders. "What news have you of her?"

Lindara glanced towards Tristan, and then to Galahad, on her other side, and said, "she has been arrested and thrown into the dungeon. The priest plans on putting her to death at dawn, by way of purging your souls and the land of her evil."

The men were outraged, and began shouting. Their individual words were drowned out by each others', until Arthur silenced them. "Take me to her."

Lindara shook her head. "You must ready yourselves to leave at once. As soon as you have rescued her, you must depart, or be killed along with her."

"We can't just leave her in there," said Tristan.

Lindara gave him a measured stare, "and you won't."

Galahad touched her arm, and Lindara first looked down at his hand, then into his face, "you will come with us, too?" Lindara frowned, confused. It was an odd request. "They will know you helped us," he reasoned.

Lindara looked to Arthur, and he nodded, his mouth tight. "Aye."

Tristan looked to Arthur. It was an impulsive action, to welcome a stranger along with them, but Arthur was already on his way out, closely followed by Lancelot, Bors and Dagonet.

"Where is she?" said Tristan, looking into her face, "please tell me where she is."

"I will," she said. "First, you must organize yourself. You cannot save her by being unprepared." Tristan wanted to throttle her, as he watched her receding back. Why wouldn't she just tell him? Perhaps she was involved with Eracura's imprisonment, and they were inviting her along!

He trailed after Galahad and Gawain, and hastily packed their belongings, with every disregard to organization. He was just too flustered, and he didn't like this feeling. His stomach was churning; he was convinced that he wouldn't eat for a week.

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura had to stand on her extreme tiptoes, hoisting herself up with the help of her hands, to look out of the tiny, barred window. It was storming heavily, and frequent flashes of lightning momentarily blinded her, and the rumbling of the close-following thunder shook the very foundation of the building. She was so preoccupied in trying to see the sky that she did not hear Lindara enter with Arthur and Galahad.

"Eracura?" he whispered, and she thumped back down onto her heels, and crossed the breadth of her cell in two strides. He cupped her face, his eyes remorseful, as Galahad whipped out a tiny dagger and set to work on the lock.

"You came!"

"Of course I did," he said, resting his forehead on hers between the bars, "Of course I did. Eracura, I'm so sorry. I should have let you go home as soon as you arrived; I should never have made you stay and should never have made you come here! I should have known better-"

She placed one finger on his lips, "Hush, Arthur. If I had wanted to leave, I would have." Arthur gave her a small smile, smoothing the goosebumps on her forearm.

"There!" said Galahad, as the lock sprang open. He tossed the lock aside and jerked open the cell door. "Milady," he said, giving a mocking bow, and Eracura kissed his cheek in thanks.

She hugged Arthur around the neck. "I'm sorry, Eracura," he whispered in her ear, "I should have been there."

"I'm fine now, Arthur," she assured him. "You can't be everywhere I go, anyway."

"Come; there's no time to lose!" Lindara hissed, and grabbing Eracura's hand, Lindara led their hurried procession to the barn. The other knights were there, standing beside their edgy horses, all tacked and ready to go.

"All right, Eracura?" said Gawain, handing her Astolat's reins.

"I am now," she grinned at him, nudging his chest, and was about to mount when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see Tristan, who handed her Syhier.

He had an indescribable look in his infinite brown eyes as he said, "Are you sure you're all right?" Gently, he touched the corner of her mouth where she bled, as she nodded in response. He swallowed hard and studied the ground at his feet, and Eracura knew he was licking his lips in that nervous way of his. He looked back up at her, deep into her eyes. "Good. That's … very good." Eracura watched him as he mounted Cotovatre, holding his arm out as a perch for Ceday. His voice was gruff and concealing something, something Eracura could not identify.

Still studying him, she mounted Astolat, and smiled at Lindara, who was beside her, riding with Galahad. Eracura was pleased that she would be accompanying them, though she probably would not have left without the girl even if this hadn't happened. Eracura brought up the rear of their convoy as they galloped out of the boundaries of the estate.

Their good luck, however, dissipated sooner than they would have otherwise anticipated.


	12. XI: A Liberatio Verum

**Author's Note: **This chapter is short, and might be sad. I don't write sappy too well, I have just discovered.

I still hope you enjoy it, though.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**XI: _A Liberatio Verum_**

Eracura would later wish that they had paid more heed to quiet than to haste; their party made no lack of noise in any sense of the word, and upon passing beneath the hedged archway that led into the main courtyard of the estate, orders were being shouted hysterically between men. She was astonished at the response time of the estate's soldiers; they had wasted no time at all in getting armed and mounted to pursue them. As though sensing the urgency of the circumstance, the horses picked up their pace, pushing themselves to a degree Eracura would not have thought possible.

"We'll lose them in the forest!" Arthur called, his words caught and carried on the wind. He turned his stallion to the north, and the rest followed suit, including their hunters.

As they neared the tree line, arrows whistled towards them, and past them. Gawain, ahead of Eracura, nearly tumbled from his horse's back as he evaded one that nearly lodged itself in the back of his neck. He recovered with only a sliced earlobe, and loosened his hold on his mare's reins, giving her her head. Another flurry of arrows whizzed towards them, and Eracura avoided one on her left side, just to be pierced by one on her right. The arrow lodged itself deep in her back, protruding through her front, and she cried out, arching her back away from the source of the pain. It was as if in that one second, her entire right side went completely numb. Her head was spinning and her vision was hazy.

Tristan looked over to her, hearing her scream, noticing the way Astolat swerved to the right as Eracura's hand grew heavy on the reins. He took his bow from where it was slung on his back, notching three arrows and spinning Cotovatre around. He fired, and did not wait for the answering deaths of his victims before urging Cotovatre to Astolat's side. The mare had slowed, Eracura hunched, heaving, over the mare's neck with Syhier clinging to Eracura's thigh.

Tristan leaned over to whisper in her ear, as he gathered the mare's reins, "Hold on, Eracura. Hold on." Her breathing was labored but she obeyed, twining her fingers in Astolat's mane. He whistled to the horse, and kicked Cotovatre back into action. The Romans were still hot on their tails, but Arthur was correct as usual, and they lost them in the dense forest.

"She's hit!" Tristan called to no one in particular, his voice hoarse, glancing back at Eracura to make sure she was still breathing and conscious.

Though some of her senses were obstructed from her wound, Eracura's hearing had become painfully acute, and every sound, from her own hollow breath to the shouts of the men reverberated for what seemed like an eternity in her head.

They had emerged into a tiny clearing, not even big enough for their group, crammed together as they were, when Lindara's clear voice pierced the air. "Get her over here, now!"

Tristan slid from Cotovatre's back, and glided to Astolat's side. He put Syhier on the ground, and pulled Eracura off of Astolat, careful not to jar the arrow, and weaved through the maze of horses' bodies to where Lindara stood with Galahad and Dagonet. "Someone start a fire!" Lindara bellowed, and Galahad scurried away to obey. "I need water," Lindara told Dagonet, and he nodded, rushing to his horse to retrieve his water skin. Looking at him, Lindara said, "put her down. No! Not like that! On her knees!"

Tristan set her down, and then steadied her in a kneeling position. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and Lindara took firm hold of the arrow. Eracura's arms whipped around Tristan's shoulders, bruising his flesh even through his clothing as Lindara snapped the fletching off the arrow, and Eracura cried out when Lindara pulled the arrow fully out. Eracura pulled the cold air into her lungs, her eyes burning, unaware of Tristan's heat for her deficient sensation.

"Bring her over here," said Lindara, motioning to the fire, where Galahad was now laying out his cloak for Eracura, and Tristan rapidly obeyed. "Now go."

"What?" Tristan said, bewildered.

Lindara looked up at him. "You'll be of no help. Neither will you," she told Galahad. Galahad rose from his crouched position, and touched Tristan's shoulder.

"Come on," Galahad told the scout. Tristan wanted to slap his hand away; he wanted to shout into the night sky that he would not leave Eracura's side, but he knew the glaring girl, her honey colored eyes bloodshot with tears, was right. He would be a hindrance.

Eracura did not want him to go, and she pleaded for him to stay with her eyes, for she had lost the ability to speak. He took no notice, but he looked positively vicious as he looked at Lindara, who glowered right back. She watched him leave, and was vaguely aware of Dagonet's arrival.

"It's alright," said Lindara, taking her friend's hand as the towering knight poured water over Eracura's wound, "it's going to be alright."

**--------------------------------------------------**

There was another clearing just ten paces out of the other, where the other knights had set up a fire and pushed logs to sit around it. Tristan sighed heavily as he sat down beside a very tense Arthur, and Bors handed him a drink. He did not contemplate it, but downed the bottle in an instant, and accepted another from Lancelot. While the men had forgotten to bring nourishment such as food, they were always dependable for ale.

**--------------------------------------------------**

It seemed like hours later when Dagonet joined them, his fingers covered in dark blood. "She's asking for you Tristan," he said, his voice cold. Tristan could not remember even moving to her side. One second he was beside the fire and the next he was clutching her hand, looking into her empty eyes.

"The arrow pierced her liver," said Lindara. Her voice seemed distant and ghostly, even though he knew she was whispering in his ear. Tristan swallowed hard, his throat tight. "There's nothing I can do." And she left, without a noise.

Tristan touched Eracura's face, and she turned to look at him, her eyes glassy. A shadow of a smile appeared on her lips upon seeing him. "Tristan …"

"I'm here."

"I didn't think I would die this way," she admitted tearfully.

Tristan opened his mouth to speak, and found it difficult to do so. "You're not going to die."

She smiled ruefully. "I am dying."

"No!" he hissed. She squeezed his hand, and closed her eyes, allowing a single tear to cascade down her cheek. Her skin, though dirty and bruised, was illuminated by the fire, and her tear reflected the light like a precious jewel. She was fading fast, he realized. Her breathing was slowing, and raspy, and her skin was growing cold. He gathered her in his arms, leaning over her. "No," he said firmly, "you can't die."

She drew another shaky breath, and one of her hands fluttered up to gently touch the back of his neck beneath his hair, and he whispered, his lips against her neck where her pulse was gradually receding, "you can't die. Because I love you." Another tear dripped from her jaw onto his shoulder, and her dying breath flowed from her lungs. He could not have been sure that she heard him, but when he looked, stunned, into her face, there was a smile on her lips.

He gently laid her back down onto the ground, watching her last tear almost freeze on her cheekbone. It was as if all time had come to a halt. All Tristan could hear was the beating of his own heart, a sound he would have gladly forsaken to be with her, and as he leaned over her body, he cried.


	13. XII: Denique

**XII: _Denique _**

Someone was shaking his shoulders, and Tristan didn't care who it was. He reached behind him to push the hands away, but felt none, though he continued to be shaken.

"Leave me!" he sobbed, his grief enveloping him "Leave me!" The light and hope and love she had brought into his dark life had gone. Omitted like the flame of a candle in a storm, and he felt he no longer had the will to live.

"Tristan …" someone was calling his name through the haze that was his heartbreak. Her voice was smooth and clear, not unlike the wind through the deepest of the wooden chimes that hung outside the smithy back at the fort.

The shaking grew more insistent, and so did the beautiful voice calling his name. "Tristan!" His eyes snapped open, to be stung by the morning sunlight seeping through the canopy above him. Long, curling black hair swept over his chest, and the firm hands upon his shoulders were long and slender. Hardly daring to breathe, he looked to his right, and straight into Eracura's oceanic eyes. She grinned down at him, then winced slightly as the scab over the cut in her lip cracked. "You were having a bad dream," she told him, sitting back onto her heels.

He scrambled up into a sitting position, staring at her, thunderstruck, and suddenly, he felt rather nauseous, with a roaring headache. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching his head, then opened his eyes. He half expected her to have disappeared, but she was still there, smiling at him. "You got so drunk, you passed out," she said, her smile widening in amusement at his expense.

"But you …" he breathed, "You … you _died_." Her brow furrowed slightly, but her smile did not lessen.

She snorted, and hiked up the baggy tunic she was wearing, revealing an ugly, circular burn. "From this? Ha! They cauterized it right after you left."

He gaped at the scar, and gingerly reached out to touch it. His roughly calloused fingers across her abdomen spawned goosebumps, and made her shiver slightly, but did not cause her innards to tremble like when he looked up into her eyes the next moment.

The hand on her scar was suddenly on her opposite side, his arm having encircled her waist. He crushed her to him, and her breath rushed out of her lungs past his ear. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, startled, and their noses nearly touched as he bore her down to the blanket on which he had been sleeping, sliding his torso over hers.

Eracura could not read the expression in his eyes, but it warmed her from her heart clear through the blood it pumped. Her hands moved from where they pressed against his chest, down to his ribs and around his back. He was looking at her as though he was seeing her for the first time after fifty years, but she saw no more as his mouth covered hers.

Eracura had never been kissed before, but it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It surpassed the thrill of danger, the triumph of battle, the joy she felt from even the closest form of freedom she had ever known. His mouth was soft and moist as it moved over hers, his breath was hot on her cheek. She had never felt more inexperienced and awkward than she did right now, but never had those feelings of inadequacy been accompanied by believing she could fly to the moon and back for the delight in her heart.

There was an explosion through his body as her compliant lips parted to allow him to explore her, and Tristan deeply regretted not kissing her sooner. The memories of all the opportunities he had had in the past ran like a well-traveled path through his mind, and he was determined to make up for lost time.

He might have been dogged, but Bors was not so genteel as to let him. Tristan did not hear him approach, for the blood pounding in his ears, and neither did Eracura, but they both heard him when he said, "well, it's about time, mate. I'd almost given up on you."

Eracura flushed, and smiled embarrassedly, and Tristan reluctantly lifted his head to scowl up at Bors, who was grinning.

"Was he worth the wait, Eracura?" Bors jested, winking at her as she sat up, drawing her knees into her chest. Tristan continued glowering at Bors, but watched her from the corner of his eye.

She bit her bottom lip, blushing deeper, and nodded. Bors laughed as she buried her face in her knees to hide her embarrassment, and Tristan could not help but allow a tiny smile to light on his lips.

"Arthur!" Bors hollered, "Tristan kissed your cousin!"

"It's about time, Tristan!" Eracura's head lifted from her knees, and she and Tristan exchanged astounded, raised-eyebrow looks as Bors sniggered above them.

Bors sank to his haunches to look Eracura in the face, "If you ever want to know what it's like to be with a real man," said Bors, in a low voice with a dismissive glance towards a non-affronted Tristan. "You know - "

"Yes Bors!" Eracura said, "I know where to find you, and I'm sure Vanora would love to hear this."

"Now don't tell on me," said Bors, nonplussed, wagging his finger in her face, "besides," he said, rising, "I was going to say Lancelot."

"Sure you were," said Tristan.

Bors narrowed his eyes at Tristan, who was smirking up at the burly man. "Fine," he replied, "you caught me. So what? She'll never leave you anyway."

Tristan looked at Eracura, who returned his gaze with doe-eyes, and an endearingly scrunched up nose. She shrugged. "He's right."

"See? There, you're safe."

As an afterthought, Eracura added with a mischievous glint, "at least not for him." Bors huffed and stalked away as Eracura fondly punched Tristan in the shoulder. "Just kidding." She climbed up onto her knees and leaned into him, pressing her lips onto his. He buried his hand in her hair and fell back into the grass, pulling her on top of him and not allowing her to draw away.

"Enough!" said Lancelot, and with a groan, Tristan let his arms fall to his side. Eracura laughed, and rolled to her side and they both looked up at Lancelot, who was carving something from a thick chunk of wood. "I'm jealous enough, mate, no need to rub it in."

Eracura rolled her eyes and pushed her fingertips against Lancelot's shin as Tristan replied, "Lancelot, you have no lack of ladies clambering for your attentions, now get out of here."

Lancelot ignored him, continuing to carve, purposefully letting his shavings fall onto Tristan's chest. "It _seems_," he said tersely, "that we forgot to take food before our rather hurried departure," here, he shot Eracura a pointed look, and she blushed remorsefully. "And while you two may be able to survive off of each other for however long, Eracura does not split eight ways." Eracura snorted and laughed outright, and Lancelot grinned as Tristan pulled her protectively closer. "So," he continued strenuously, "as soon as you both are ready … well, sooner because we don't want you dawdling, we will leave and find a suitable place and a suitable meal." He spun on his heel and marched away to his horse.

"Well," said Eracura, moving to get up, "I guess that means we should go, eh?"

"Not so fast!" Tristan said, grabbing her arm. "I _could_ survive off of you …" and he dragged her down to him, kissing her deeply until he heard Lancelot groan from somewhere to his right.

"Stop it!" Lancelot ordered, and Eracura, grinned against Tristan's lips, and then gave him a fleeting peck before jumping to her feet.

"Time to go." She hauled him to his feet by his hand, and she held her finger to his lips when he tried to kiss her again. "Nuh uh," she said, shaking her head, "You heard Lancelot."

His shoulders slumped and he pouted, "you'd think he'd suddenly become my Mother". Eracura closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly, before turning to find Astolat. The mare was grazing in the other clearing, with Galahad and Gawain's horses. Lindara and Galahad were there, tacking up Galahad's horse, and when they saw her, they smiled and waved.

"I don't think I ever properly thanked you," Eracura said, taking Lindara's hand, "for what you did for me, last night."

Lindara smiled, "there is no need to thank me, my friend." Eracura hugged her, and when she pulled away, the young girl continued, "so he finally kissed you, did he?"

Eracura scuffed her shoe in the dirt, blushing faintly. "Yes …"

"Yay!" said Lindara, jumping up and down. Eracura joined her, and Galahad rolled his eyes, tightening the cinch on the saddle. "How was it? Was it good?"

Eracura put her hand to her forehead, and pretended to swoon, "it was …" she sighed blissfully, "_divine_."

Lindara laughed, and Galahad groaned. "I hope he doesn't talk like this, too. The both of you together would be torture."

Eracura frowned at Galahad, and punched him in the shoulder, noting the jesting smile he tried to hide. "Now don't be like that, Galahad. Maybe if you would kiss Lindara you'd understand."

She grinned as Galahad glared after her as she scurried away, and Lindara squealed, "you're horrible Eracura! _Horrible!_" Eracura giggled, and grabbed Astolat's reins, towing the mare into a trot behind her as she jogged into the other clearing.

Galahad followed her almost immediately. He grabbed her elbow, and she turned around to face him, "how did you know?" he demanded.

Eracura gave him a critical look, "Galahad," she stated, "I could tell when I was nearly unconscious. You're so very _not_ discreet. At all."

He released her arm and looked at the ground. "Well," he wheezed, "you're not either." And he folded his arms across his chest, giving her a distinct _so there_ look.

Eracura chuckled, "the difference between you and I, Galahad, is that I don't mind." He narrowed his eyes at her, and she shrugged and walked away.

**--------------------------------------------------**

On their way north through the forest, Eracura felt as though she was a character in one of the romantic tales her Mother used to tell her. She and Tristan rode side-by-side through the trees, close enough that their horses' sides rubbed together, and Syhier could jump from her leg to his with no difficulty, though the wolf, like Eracura, found bareback more comfortable. They were not quite holding hands; just their middle fingers were linked, but even that bit of contact was enough.

When they stopped to eat, after shooting several rabbits, Eracura leaned against Tristan's side, with his arm around her, eating contentedly. Syhier was curled up in her lap, having already eaten his fill, and Ceday was perched overhead, her beak tucked beneath her wing. _Finally_, Eracura sighed. It seemed like she'd waiting forever for such a perfect moment, and then …

"Why don't you just _sit in his lap_, Eracura?" Lancelot teased, and she stuck her tongue at him and glared, crawling into Tristan's lap. Both Tristan and Lancelot exchanged rather startled looks as the other knights roared with laughter. Eracura folded her arms and hunkered over like some sort of goblin, a challenging look, directed at Lancelot, in her eyes. Tristan moved her hair to the side and kissed her neck, wrapping his arms around her, then rested his chin on her shoulder. She softened, and allowed her lips linger on his jaw, closing her eyes and reveling in his inimitable scent.

Eracura remembered thinking that night, as she unfolded her bedroll beside Tristan's, who was already asleep, that she had never looked upon a man that made her feel in such a way, that she could call her own. Granted, she reasoned, a kiss did not make them married, but she felt such love for him as mere words could not elucidate, and she could not picture herself with any other man for as long as she lived.

She was propped up onto her elbow, studying his face, and Syhier curled up in the hollow between her arm and breast with a sigh. She scratched the wolf's head between his ears, and drank in the image of Tristan in the moonlight.

Lying on his back, his forelock of disheveled hair slid down away from his face. He had smooth, clear skin and a permanent furrow between his brows. His nose was perfectly straight from every angle, and his cheekbones were high and wide, giving his face a curious sense of uniformity, but a beautiful one. The apples of his cheeks were adorned with his tattoos, a small, horizontal triangle atop another, and larger one whose point was tilted slightly upward. His dark beard framed his lush mouth, which, Eracura noticed now, was shaped like the bow he carried.

He took a deep breath, and his lips parted, and Eracura knew he was awake. "Go to sleep," he groaned.

"I like looking at you," she protested. He opened the eye closest to her, peeking at her through his ridiculously long eyelashes, and a smile quirked her lips.

"It's disconcerting," he told her. "As beautiful as you are, I do not stare at you when you are pretending to be asleep." Eracura gawked at him, and he uttered a soft chuckle. "What? You look as though you've never been told you are beautiful, before."

"In jest, I have," she said, thinking of Lancelot.

Tristan's voice took on a more serious tone when he said, "it is no jest."

She smiled crookedly, "thank you." He nodded, and shifted his weight onto his side, slinging his arm over her.

"Now go to sleep."

With her nose buried in his shirt, Eracura found it an effortless task to obey.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **Mwahahahahaha! I psyched you out there, didn't I?

When I wrote that last chapter, I was thinking of when you have those dreams that somebody dies, and you wake up and you're crying. Well, I don't know if everyone has those, but I do, and they're horrible. Trust me, if you've never had one, you're lucky.

Okay, so this was a _seriously_ fluffy chapter, but I'm going to try to make Tristan and Eracura's relationship realistic, and not so … perfect and harlequin-y, because I'm not trying to write a harlequin romance here.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this latest installment. Please review with feedback; I really appreciate it.


	14. XIII: An Ignotus Propositio

**Author's Note: **Gosh, guys, I'm so sorry for the delay. First, I had a serious case of writer's block in which I had to brainstorm ideas for the next chapter(s), and then I got bored of that because I wasn't being very productive so I started reviewing and editing my current chapters. _(Not a lot of changes, so if you don't go back and read them you're not really going to miss anything)._ And then, there was a stupid problem with the website and I was all like **"arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!" **because it was really pissing me off.

Anyways, thank you to all of my wonderful, amazing reviewers. I love you all! xxxxxxxxx

Enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------

**XIII: _An Ignotus Propositio_**

Upon their arrival at the fort, just before noon, they were greeted by Vanora and Bors' never ending sea of children, and promptly informed that a squad of Roman soldiers had arrived three days past from Londinium. Eracura grew nervous. Had they already come to fetch her? But Vanora assured her that she hadn't even been mentioned; the tribune with the squad was here to talk to Arthur, she said, but he would say no more to a lowly barmaid, for that was what Vanora was, in his eyes.

Vanora rolled her eyes at the memory, hitching up the sleeves of her dress and walking alongside Bors' prancing stallion to the barn. The children, after greeting their Father, had disappeared to go off and play, to Eracura's relief. She abhorred small children, and could only tolerate them for short periods of time.

Astolat was pleased to have returned to her own stall, and her sentiments were made very clear as soon as Eracura finished grooming her; she slumped to her side and rolled on her back in the hay.

Eracura laughed, watching her flailing legs, and Tristan came to stand at her shoulder, watching the mare with laughing eyes. "Typical," Eracura said, and he smiled into her face. She tipped her head back and Tristan kissed her softly, and Eracura smiled against his lips.

Pulling away, she told him, "I'm going to go outside; come find me when you have need of me."

He put one hand on her hip and said, "then I should just accompany you."

"Later," said Arthur, slapping his hand on Tristan's shoulder. "_I_ have need of _you_, Tristan."

Tristan slumped, rolling his eyes, and Eracura sniggered when he mouthed the words, "yes, _dear_" for only her to see. Tristan bent to kiss her cheek, and then he turned to follow Arthur and the other knights out the barn.

Eracura smiled languorously as she watched his graceful, swaggering walk as he disappeared through the wide doors of the barn into the sunlight, and trailed their path, though not to the great hall. After briefly considering following Lindara to the bathhouse, she instead made her way out of the boundaries of the inner wall, to the expansive field that lay encompassed by the outer fortifications.

She let a squirming Syhier jump from her arms to the ground, and he ran a short space away, gave a short howl, and then continued running. Eracura was tired and sore from the journey and from recent events, but she humored her beloved wolf and chased him through the waist-height, pale wild grass, until she was a significant distance away from the fortress.

She fell to her knees and flopped over onto her back, gazing up at the clear blue sky. Syhier licked her face, and lay down, panting, near her head. Eracura closed her eyes as the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and through her clothes made her drowsy, and she dozed off, vowing that it would only be for ten minutes, at the most.

**--------------------------------------------------**

The Roman officers were all rigidly disciplined and well groomed and typically arrogant, and Tristan had no patience for them. He never had, and having a much better alternative in Eracura than he found here did nothing to quell his restlessness as he sat in his usual place between Bors and Gawain.

He indulged in a cup of wine, barely half-filled. The recollection of the last time he had gotten drunk and dreamed that Eracura had died had been a sufficient enough experience to put him off consuming large amounts of alcohol any time in the foreseeable future, and he drank it slowly, just to be safe.

The tribune was the only Roman officer who sat, and his men were lined up in two rows behind him, staring blankly at the wall opposite them. The tribune was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with dark, red-brown hair that had just one wide streak of silver from his left temple. He had a wide mouth that seemed to be naturally poised into a smug smirk that made Tristan want to hit him, and icy blue eyes. His name was Claudius Tertius, and he was unquestionably foul. Especially when he spoke. It was not his voice that offended, but the manner in which he spoke to them, as though they were lesser beings crawling in the dirt at his golden feet. Claudius Tertius was a man that did not sit well with Tristan's innards.

"Arthur Castus," he said degradingly, and that was the only way in which he would speak to them all night.

"Tribune," said Arthur, his voice equally as cool, but with a certain degree of respect that Tertius lacked.

"I understand you deal with Rome's problems here in Britain," said Tertius.

"As best we can," said Arthur, including the knights in their conversation. Tertius looked round at the knights dismissively and conceitedly, and Tristan exchanged resentful looks with Lancelot, who was seated across the table from him.

"Then, surely you'll be willing to assist the Empire with a small … shall we say, conflict of interest occurring here in Britain."

Arthur looked to Lancelot and then to Dagonet, and Tristan did not like the way this proposition was sounding from this disagreeable man.

"It depends," Arthur said charily.

"Good," said Tertius. "There is a man, a Visigoth ambassador to Britain from Rome - "

"What is a Visigoth doing as an ambassador for Rome?" demanded Bors.

Tertius did not even look at him when he snapped, "he is a Roman citizen, and he is doing exactly that; being an ambassador. The Empire cannot spare upstanding Romans to such a remote outpost."

Bors growled in his throat at the man, his fingers rubbing the hilt of his tempting dagger.

"_As I was saying_," said Tertius, "this ambassador has recently been found participating in treasonous acts against the Empire."

"In what way?" Arthur wanted to know.

"He is trying to smuggle military information to his brother," Tertius responded, studying his fingernails. "His brother is a Visigoth rebel still in their homeland, and he is planning an invasion of the weakest outpost of Rome; Britain, upon receiving this information."

"And what, pray tell," said Lancelot sarcastically, "do you want us to do about it?"

"Well," replied Tertius flippantly, as though he were speaking to a half-wit, "it is obvious that this _cannot_ be allowed to happen. That is where you come in, Arthur."

"In what sense?" he asked.

"I am enlisting your services to kill this man."

Tristan nearly choked on the sip of wine he had taken, and he hastily set his cup down. Arthur looked confused, and the other men looked dumbfounded.

"We are _not_ _assassins_, tribune," Arthur hissed.

Claudius Tertius ignored this statement, going on to say, "you will be well paid for this honor you do for Rome." Arthur repeated himself, louder this time, and Tertius looked up at him sharply. "I understand that, but you would do well to serve your duty. Perhaps one of your men here - "

"No, tribune!" Arthur said, rising.

Tertius rose as well, and shouted, "This order comes from the Procurator of South Britain!"

"Then let him ask!"

"He has!" Tertius shouted, "I am he!"

Arthur seemed slightly taken aback, but did not show it save for a shifting of his feet and a clearing of his throat. "Again, sir," he said, his tone softer, "we are not - " One could almost see the idea dawn on him, and Tristan found himself curious as to what this newest revelation might be. Arthur leaned forward onto the table. "As the Procurator," he said the Tertius, "do you have the authority to grant clemency?"

Tertius inclined his head just as Tristan realized what Arthur was about to propose. "I do."

"And will you award it for the person who fulfills this task?"

Tertius thought for a moment, and Tristan squirmed in his chair, willing him to say no and yes at the same time.

"I will."

Arthur straightened, looking exultant as he said, "Then it shall be done."

**--------------------------------------------------**

Eracura was disoriented and groggy when she heard Tristan calling her name what seemed like moments later after she had dozed off, and as soon as she opened her eyes she knew why. The sun was gliding towards the west, gradually setting, and Eracura realized that she had been asleep for over two hours. She cursed herself and bolted upright, relocating Syhier about a foot away from her as he rolled off of his pillow of her hair.

Tristan saw her and made his way to her as she rubbed the sleep fervently from her eyes. "Did you have a good nap?" he teased as he helped her to her feet. She glared playfully at him, and he kissed her nose, and then said, "Arthur wishes to see you."

"What about?"

"He told me not to tell you."

She groaned, "I hate surprises."

They walked hand-in-hand into the great hall, and Tristan was relieved to see that the Procurator-tribune had decided to leave along with his soldiers. Arthur's scheme was sure to disturb Eracura enough without an audience of Romans.

Arthur grinned at her, and pulled a piece of grass out of her hair before beginning. "Eracura, I have an offer for you."

"Mmm, sounds interesting."

Tristan whispered in her ear, "oh, it is."

"I'm listening," she said to Arthur.

"There is an ambassador that has been helping to plan a Visigoth revolt against Rome by taking this island."

"Really?" Eracura was intrigued, "Why would they want Britain? That won't hurt Rome."

Arthur's brow furrowed, "in the future it could."

Eracura nodded thoughtfully, "I see." She looked up at Arthur expectantly, still not sure of what his suggestion was.

"The Roman soldiers who came here; their tribune also happens to be the Procurator of South Britain, Claudius Tertius."

Eracura had heard this name before; her Father had spoken of him when he had been appointed as Procurator three – or was it four? – years ago. He was a cruel man with a love of carnage on the battlefield. How and why he had ended up in Britain as a Procurator was beyond Eracura's knowledge of the matter, and she did not rightly care.

"Okay … and?"

"He wants one of us to kill this ambassador."

Eracura looked at Arthur's pleading look, and laughed, until Arthur's gaze upon her became more staid. "What … you're serious?" He looked around him at Tristan and at Lancelot, who was standing by his side, and nodded. "No!" she yelled.

"Now, Eracura, the Procurator is willing to reward you righteously, with both money and clemency," Arthur beseeched.

"What the fuck is _clemency_?" Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was taken aback to speechlessness by her language, "No, you know what? I don't care. I won't do it Arthur! I am not an assassin; I do not kill in cold blood. Besides, what good will _money_ do me?"

"We need you to do this Eracura," Arthur implored, "you're the only one with the talent and the stealth to do this."

"That's horseshit! Tristan could do it if it were a matter of _stealth and talent." _

Lancelot shrugged, "well, she does have a point."

"Thank you!" Eracura said to him, and he winked at her.

"Lancelot! You're _not _helping," Arthur ground out.

"Oh! Oh, right. Eracura, please? Please?" Lancelot said. Arthur glared at him and Lancelot obligingly made himself scarce.

Eracura rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Eracura," Tristan said, and she turned around to look at him dubiously. "He's going to grant you a full pardon if you do this."

"A pardon? A pardon for what?" Eracura snapped ferociously.

Tristan shrugged meekly, and Arthur took over, "If Varo's men find out you're alive, you'll probably be tried as a witch. Tertius will clear your name and unless you commit some other serious crime against him personally, you cannot be arrested."

Eracura thought for a moment. "And … all I have to do is kill one man?"


	15. XIV: Pro Vestri Ratio

**Author's Note: **YAY! A new chapter. How … unlikely. I thought that I would never get a move on with this story, and here it is!! To all my readers… I am so terribly sorry, but I hope that you guys enjoy this, after how long it's been. I had the most horrible writer's block, and just couldn't seem to make this chapter work, no matter how hard I tried. But now my mind is ripe with ideas for this story; I feel this one will wrap up soon, to make way for the second installment.

Anyway, on with the story! Enjoy!

**-----------------------------------**

**XIV: _Pro Vestri Ratio_**

Eracura watched uncertainly as Arthur looked away from her almost sheepishly, exchanging a glance with Tristan. Silence ensued, and Eracura cleared her throat impatiently, growing more anxious as the look between the two men was drawn out for longer than it should have been, with everything taken into account. If it was such a simple situation, Eracura's question should have been answered promptly. She narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious of these Romans' true intentions with her services, should she consent to offer them.

"Excuse me!" she shouted, when Arthur still had made no indication of answering her. Both Arthur and Tristan jumped, as if her voice, ringing through the hall, had disturbed some otherworldly conversation taking place between their minds and brought to life by the contact of their eyes. Arthur looked at her sharply, expectantly, and Eracura looked at him, agape. "Did you _hear_ me?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"And …?"

"That is my answer," Arthur stated, as if his long-awaited response was supposed to comfort her in some way.

She glared at him, and then stooped to pick up Syhier from where he sat between her feet, completely unfazed by the raised voices. "I can't believe you're asking me to do this," she hissed rhetorically. "Fine," she snapped coldly, "I'll do it." Then she pointed one long, slender finger in his face, "_but, _I am _never_ doing you another favor, Arthur Castus." She gave Tristan a dark look, and then stormed out of the hall. The cold air assaulted her senses as she plunged into the open, and she halted, attempting to regain her composure before she did something rash. She then found her feet guiding her to the barn, where Astolat greeted her graciously.

"Should we go for a ride?" Eracura whispered, rubbing the mare's ears. Astolat answered by butting Eracura's belly with her muzzle, and shuffling her hooves in the straw. "Yeah, sweetheart; let's go for a ride."

Seconds later, Eracura flew out the barn, borne by Astolat, and out of the boundaries of the fort. The moon was but a sliver in a foggy sky, providing an eerie sort of light through the mist over the land. Astolat seemed to sense Eracura's desire for seclusion, and only slowed when she reached the tree line of the forest. Eracura sighed as the forest enveloped her. She felt a small portion of the tension in her constricted chest wane in the peace of the forest.

That was, until something spooked Astolat. She whinnied, spinning on a dime and keeping her fine head so close to her body that her muzzle touched Eracura's knee. Syhier clung desperately to Eracura, while she attempted to calm the mare down with soothing words and hands. When Astolat finally stopped spinning, it was to rear up at the abrupt appearance of a dark, heavily cloaked man.

"Father!" Eracura exclaimed, willing her pounding heart to ease out of her throat and back into her chest, yet calm, as she slipped off of Astolat. Merlin grabbed her shoulders, as soon as Eracura had put Syhier on the ground. His eyes were intense, his brow furrowed, and Eracura was slightly intimidated.

"Eracura, where have you _been_?" he demanded, voice harsh.

"Father, I'm so sorry! I meant to send word - "

He enveloped her tightly in a hug, muffling her words in his shoulder. "I was so worried," he said softly, running his hand over her hair. Eracura felt her eyes stinging, as she twisted the fabric of his robe in her hands, inhaling his unique musk. Until now, as a single tear rolled down her cheek, she hadn't realized how much she had truly missed him, for how busy she'd been kept.

He pulled away, and kissed her forehead. "Now," he said, "where have you been?"

"You'll never believe it," she said to him, grinning, "I found Arthur! I've been at the fortress since I saw you last." Which was almost two months ago, she realized suddenly.

He sighed, looking relieved. "I knew it had to be something wonderful," he said. He sat down in the grass, his back against a tree, urging her to follow suit. He looked grave; concerned about something, which concerned Eracura in turn as she sat opposite him. He laid his palms on her knees. "I can't stay long, to my dismay," he told her.

"Why not?" she asked, disappointed.

"There are things I must take care of at home. But listen, you should stay; we'll be together soon. I simply felt compelled to tell you something, as it will affect us all."

"It must be important," Eracura said, curious.

"It is. Now hush," Eracura obeyed, but Merlin was silent still for a moment, apparently arranging his thoughts. "Our scouts have noticed an unusual amount of soldiers stationed at the wall." He paused, and Eracura took that moment in which to respond.

"Couldn't the sudden fortifications be simply due to our attack?"

Merlin shook his head. "I do not think so," he stated grimly. "There are too many of them, and too many of them are idle to be guards."

"So what do you suspect?" Eracura probed, when once more he hesitated.

"A usurping, which, as you well know means no good for us."

Eracura suddenly felt the wind knocked out of her, swallowing hard. "So soon after the last?"

Merlin nodded, "I think it may be the same man; the leader of the last usurping was never known to anyone, as he never owned up to it, and never participated in the campaigning, past gathering allies."

"So why would he admit it a second time?" Eracura speculated.

"Indeed." He rose to his feet with a groan, "I'm not as young as I once was," he said with a smile, by way of explanation. He took Eracura's hands and hauled her to her feet.

"Is that all?" Eracura asked.

"I'm afraid so, darling," he embraced her tightly. "I knew I had to warn you. Especially with you here, amongst these Romans." Eracura mounted Astolat, and Merlin handed her Syhier. He smiled into her face, then said, after a small vacillation, "I hate to ask you this, but could you perhaps let us know, somehow … if you hear anything about it?"

"You want me to spy for you?" Eracura asked, slightly more dumbfounded than she let on through her voice. First her cousin asking her to commit murder, and now her father requesting that she spy for him? What was she, an errand girl now? She sighed. At least Merlin looked guilty.

"Not spy; just keep your ears and eyes open, and _if_ you should hear anything …"

"Of course, Father," she assured him, while racking her brain for any memory of the Romans at the fort mentioning such a thing. He laid his hand on her leg, his eyes over bright.

"Keep your wits about you, love. I couldn't bear it if I - " he cleared his throat, his voice suddenly strangled.

"Father, don't talk like that."

"You're right," he gave her an unsteady smile. "Just stay safe."

"I promise, Father," she said, touching his face. He took her hand and kissed her palm, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Now go," he said, avoiding her eye, "and _try_ not to go out alone, anymore."

Eracura smiled, "alright."

He gave Astolat's rump a smart smack, and Astolat gathered her legs underneath her and took off. "I'll see you soon, Eracura!" He called.

Eracura turned around to wave, but he had already disappeared into the mist like a ghost. She sighed, frustrated. Two months, and all connection to her family she got was a severely distracted father with momentous news, asking her, albeit indirectly, to _spy_ on the Romans at the fort.

Once Astolat breached the tree line, Eracura urged her into an easy canter all the way back to the fort.

The courtyard was practically deserted, and Eracura could hear the strident voices of the men in the tavern. Eracura was grateful; her mind was laden too heavily with the thoughts her father's ominous words to deal with any Romans who might cross her.

Astolat pranced into the barn, her hooves sounding hollow on the soft wood of the floor. She was about to turn into her stall when Tristan came to his feet directly in front of her.

Astolat tossed her head with a snort, having only barely recovered from her last fright in the forest, and recoiled by taking several steps backwards and away from the man in the shadows.

"Easy, Astolat," Eracura crooned, sliding off her back and stroking the mare's neck. She led the mare into her stall, only giving Tristan a brief look, and began to rub her down. "What are you doing here?" she asked Tristan.

"I was worried," he told her. Eracura nodded, biting her lip and taking a deep breath. She didn't want to snap at him, not when he really only had her best interests at heart, despite the situation he and Arthur had gotten her into.

"I see," she said softly.

He laid his hand on the small of her back, behind her before she'd even realized that he'd moved from the spot he'd been in when she'd returned from her ride. "Where were you?"

"Riding," she said flatly.

"I gathered that," he replied, his voice taking on an irritated edge. She didn't respond, which irked him even more. He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around to face him. "What has come over you?" he demanded, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice.

She stared at him, eyebrows raised towards his hairline and her mouth hanging slightly open. "What has come over me?" she echoed, disbelievingly. He nodded curtly, and then Eracura pushed herself out of his grasp, backing out of the stall with her eyes blazing. "How can you ask me that?" she snapped coldly. "I've just been told that I'm to kill a man in exchange for my freedom; you don't see anything wrong with that?" She didn't give him the time to respond as he pursued her, following her every move. "If _you people_ hadn't invaded _my_ country in the _first place_, there would be absolutely _no need_ to justify _murder_ as a means to a selfish end."

"His supplying his Visigoth brother with combat information is a danger to your people as well; you're doing everyone on this island a service by following Tertius's orders," Tristan protested.

Eracura threw her arms up in the air, scoffing; "Oh, and I remember the last time you enjoyed taking orders from a _Roman_!"

Tristan opened his mouth to respond, but closed it almost immediately. She had him there … He looked back at her, bristling at the smug look on her face. "That doesn't change the fact that you're serving as a vessel for the safety of everyone."

She folded her arms obstinately across her chest. "What makes you so quick to assume that this … _Tertius _is telling the truth anyway?"

"What makes you so sure that he isn't?"

"I don't trust Romans," Eracura spat.

"Neither do I!" Tristan bellowed, advancing on her.

Eracura ducked out of his reach, barking, "Then why are you defending him? He is the classic specimen; conceited, selfish and couldn't possibly care less about anyone else without being dead." She paused, and a thought crossed her mind. What if…? "He could even be leading the usurping." He had escaped Roman judgment for his crimes of war more than once, which made him cunning and evasive, and he was a Roman Legate and Procurator, which made him ambitious.

Tristan, taking advantage of her sudden thoughtfulness, took a step towards her. "What did you say?"

Her face had lit up suddenly, "It makes sense!" she said excitedly. "He could be leading the usurping!"

"_What are you talking about? What_ usurping?" He grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to shake some sense into her.

She wiggled away from his hands, but found herself pressed up against one of the pillars that held the barn roof up.

"I was out riding, and I met my Father in the woods - "

"Your Father?" Tristan repeated, but she ignored him, continuing as if he hadn't even spoken. Eracura related everything to Tristan that her Father had told her, and Tristan immediately took her directly to Arthur and the other knights at their table in the tavern, where she retold her story.

"It makes sense," Gawain said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Almost eerily so."

"Yes," Galahad said, keeping his voice low so that the Romans all around them couldn't hear their discussion.

"They never apprehended the leader of the usurping six years ago," Lancelot added. "They took the closest thing to; the General directly under the Legate - "

"Claudius Tertius," Arthur chimed in. Now this was something Eracura had not been aware of, and everything began to seem like the pieces of an intricate puzzle sliding together with no effort at all. The men were all suddenly anxious, all brooding and in their own thoughtful worlds. "How did your Father know all this?" Arthur wanted to know.

"We keep scouts all over the country; monitoring military activity, by the by something unexpected should happen," Eracura said. Under any other circumstances, and with any other people, she would never have divulged the information, but as it was …

"Like this," Tristan said.

"Like this," she agreed, smiling at him.

"Knights, while this information may seem feasible, it is still vague and we only have our suspicions," Arthur stated, always the reasonable one, "Be sure to keep your eyes and ears open, and perhaps we will weather this storm, should it be upon us."

As Eracura tucked herself into bed that night, she couldn't help but wonder why Claudius Tertius, a potential usurper, would want her to kill some remote ambassador.


	16. XV: Obnoxius per Memoria

**XV: _Obnoxius per Memoria_**

It was only the very next morning when Tristan woke her up as if he was brought to her by the rays of the sun, saying that Arthur needed to talk to her.

"Why?" Eracura moaned, pulling the furs up over her head to block him and the sun out. He jumped on top of her, and traced her body with his hands beneath the furs, and then proceeded to tickle her. She squealed with laughter, kicking her feet and trying to dislodge him. "Stop!" she commanded breathlessly, "Stop! Stop!"

"Out of bed, lazy bones," he teased, kneeling beside her on the bed. Eracura recovered herself and then pushed him onto the floor. He fell onto his back with a rush of his breath and a dull thud, and Eracura wrapped the fur securely around herself before she stepped out of bed, picking her way around him to get to her dressing screen. At the very last moment, he grabbed her ankle and Eracura fell beside him with a shriek, smacking her head on the cold stone. "Oh, shit," he said, concern hidden within the folds of his laughter. He slid over to her, covering her torso with his as he cradled her head. "You alright there?"

"Ow!" she snapped, still smiling, and then pushed him away. Tristan towed her with him so that she straddled his hips, and she watched with those nauseating sort of butterflies in her stomach as his smile faded to be replaced by a look of passion in his eyes. Her breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat, and trembled there, threatening to choke her, when he put his hands on her hips. He massaged his way around to her back and up to her shoulder blades, pulling her down so her lips met his.

Eracura gave a small moan when his tongue met hers, and he clutched her tighter, so that she had to slide her knees back and lay directly on him. Her heart raced so quickly that she was sure that at any moment it would jump out of her chest and makes its way around the room. She broke the kiss, to trail kisses along his jaw and over his throat, and he clutched at her shoulders with a heavy sigh.

"Okay," she said, struggling to her feet, a little terrified of where this could be going.

Tristan groaned, trying vainly to pull her back by her fingers as he lay there gazing up at her, "Come back!" he whined.

"You said Arthur wanted to talk to me," she said, eyes laughing. "We best not keep him waiting." Eracura practically skipped to the dressing screen, and then leaned against the wall, trembling.

"Cock tease," Tristan muttered, but still loud enough for Eracura to hear, who cried out in indignation, poking her head out from behind the screen with her mouth agape. "Well you are," he declared, raising his chin to look down at her.

She cocked one eyebrow, pursing her mouth to disguise her smile. "Fine," she said flippantly. She disappeared momentarily behind the screen, and then looked back out, suddenly. "No peeking!"

Eracura said that just as Tristan heard scratching at the door, and he went to it. Syhier, who Tristan hadn't even realized had gotten out when he'd slipped in, bounded into the room, tail wagging madly. "You don't have to leave!" she said to Tristan, peering around the screen once more.

"I'm not," he gestured to Syhier, who had now tucked himself into the furs left on Eracura's bed. Eracura chose to emerge then, dressed in a flowing linen gown in a sunny pastel yellow. Her hair was still untamed, lying loose in waves around her face and torso. Tristan gazed at her appreciatively; he usually only saw her in the men's clothing she generally preferred, and continued studying her, until he noticed the way she fidgeted.

"Stop staring at me," she said softly, pulling on her boots though they looked ridiculous with that dress. Thankfully, he thought, the skirt of the dress was long enough to hide the better part of her boots.

"You're lovely," he told her. She gave him a sidelong look and a half-smile, and then he reached out for her hands and pulled her close, giving her a soft kiss until she drew away, licking her lips.

"We have to go," she protested, scratching his beard with one finger. "Come on, Syhier," she said as she opened the door. The little wolf gave a yap, wagging his tail, and jumped off the bed, dashing out of the room. Tristan and Eracura followed him at a slower pace, Tristan's arm around her shoulders. Eracura liked this feeling of security, especially from him. They went directly to the great hall, Tristan teasing her about the way her hungry stomach rumbled, but no matter how famished she was, Eracura would have left the great hall as soon as they'd entered if Tristan had not kept his arm around her shoulders.

They walked in, and Eracura could see all of the knights, but just barely through the red cloaks as they were all outnumbered two-to-one by Roman infantry. Eracura automatically spun on her heel, making for the door and not caring if anyone had seen them. But Tristan caught her around the waist, and hauled her back into the room.

"Let me go," she hissed, having no wish to either remain or to make a scene.

"No," Tristan whispered firmly in her ear, as if she was an ornery dog, "you have to stay."

Eracura glowered up at him, feeling all the humor from earlier that morning drain out of her like water from a leaking skin as she was guided to a seat which she refused to sit in, telling Tristan that if he was making her stay, she would stand, thank you very much.

Tristan relented, but stood close beside her, ready to catch her if she attempted to move; whether it would be to the door or to gauge out the eyes of the nearest Roman soldier. Her eyes burned with feral hatred as she looked at the Romans, and Tristan fancied he could feel the heat emanating off of her taut and vibrating body.

No one said anything for a long while, everyone in the hall studying Eracura in a discreet fashion, half-expecting her to leap across the table like a wildcat to tear out throats. And then finally, the only Roman seated, whom Eracura assumed to be the procurator, spoke.

"Please, sit," he said to Eracura, capturing her eyes and holding them. It was like a battle of wills, and one could feel the tension crackling between them.

"No," she said coldly. As an afterthought, she said, "thank you," though her voice was terse and everyone in the hall, the procurator included, could tell that it was merely a formality and that there was nothing sincere about it.

"Very well," said the procurator, voice equally as icy as he looked her over, averting his gaze from hers as if her spirit was dominant, which it certainly was. "You are the one then?" he asked disdainfully, and she nodded stiffly, as though it were the most unnatural of movements. He gave a somewhat maniacal grin, and clapped his hands together, standing. He made his way around the table towards her, and the knights could barely believe that he was doing so.

They'd never seen Eracura – or anyone, for that matter – look at another in such a way. If looks could kill, the gates of hell would yawn beneath Claudius Tertius, consuming him. Every knight in that room, Arthur included, would not approach Eracura in such a temper.

And Eracura seemed to be determined to teach Tertius the same respect. When he was within arm's reach of her, Eracura's hand lashed out to Tristan's belt, and she slipped his dagger away from him before he'd even realized she'd moved. Eracura whipped the dagger to Tertius's throat, and his eyes widened with an audible gulp as he took a step back.

"Sheathe your claws, kitty," he said, taunting her. In the next moment, Eracura would have lopped off his ear with the ease of cutting butter, if Tristan and Gawain, the knights nearest her, had not seized her by the arms just in time. They were awed at the gall this man had, but not so stunned that they did not have the reflexes to react, as Eracura surely would. Tertius glared venomously at her as Tristan forcibly pried the dagger out of her fingers, and Eracura allowed herself to be towed to a distance that ensured the current safety of the procurator, while she returned his venom.

Though she was now a significant distance away, Tristan and Gawain resumed their hold upon her, with no regards to the fact that she'd ceased to resist. There was no telling what she might do, or how swiftly she could do it.

The procurator composed himself from his fright, straightening his clothing and neatening his hair. "I knew that this was a mistake," Tertius hissed, to no one in particular, "dealing with you _savages_ never was my strong suit."

Eracura surged forward with a yell, against her restraints, and Tertius laughed, watching her with amusement dancing in his eyes, as Arthur advanced on him, with a warning look for Eracura and a dark one for Tertius.

"That _savage_," he said to Tertius, "is doing you a tremendous favor. One that she wouldn't necessarily have to perform for you -"

"If she was not performing this service for me," Claudius snapped, "she would be arrested immediately for crimes against the empire."

Eracura heard Gawain say, "Because you care _so_ much," under his breath, and she had to smother a smile so that she wouldn't draw attention to his words. But by the way Tertius's eyes flicked to Gawain and a side of his mouth twisted, he'd heard Gawain's comment.

He must have found Gawain too far beneath him to react any further to his words, for after a brief silence, he continued speaking to Arthur; "You know this, Castus, or else you would not have suggested for her to do this for me, in exchange for her unconditional freedom."

Arthur rolled his eyes. He'd never enjoyed being corrected, or interrupted. "Yes, but, if I had refused you the first time you'd asked, you'd never have known about her, and we are more than ready and willing to defend Eracura, should the threat arise. _Any_ threat."

Eracura stopped pulling against Gawain and Tristan as soon as she heard the words pour out of Arthur's mouth, and when he came to stand beside her, she looked at him with eyes overflowing with gratitude and love. He swatted Gawain and Tristan away, and pulled Eracura into the circle of his arm. Turning back to Tertius, he said, "So, Tertius, if you want this job done, and done well, I suggest you apologize to my cousin, and show her some respect," Tertius hesitated, unsure of what to make of this new revelation, and Arthur continued, "I'm not sure it would be a particularly difficult task to convince her to come off the hunt."

Eracura grinned up at him, and he didn't look directly at her, but she knew he'd seen when he squeezed her shoulders tightly. She felt better prepared now to face Tertius without losing her temper.

Tertius cleared his throat, and Eracura could almost see the wheels in his head turning. Eracura almost regretted Arthur acknowledging her as family in front of this man, for who knew how he could use the information against them all. By reacting to Tertius's words, Arthur had established Eracura as a potential liability, and Tertius was the type of man who undoubtedly would twist it to his advantage in any way he could.

But to Eracura's surprise, he said, "You're right, Castus," he said. To Eracura, he apologized, and then said, "You'll leave with me and my men tomorrow at dawn."

After Tristan had assured his place among them for the journey, no matter how much Tertius tried to dissuade him, which made Eracura more on edge about him, Tristan guided Eracura out of the doors, kissing her cheek.

"Hostility at its finest," he teased her. Eracura narrowed her eyes at him, biting her lip, and then looked abruptly at her feet, shamefaced. He chuckled at her obvious discomfort as she stroked Syhier's ears, and when she looked sharply up at him, he said, "Don't get me wrong, we all found it amusing."

Her eyes went sharper, "It wasn't meant to be amusing," she snapped. "That bastard killed my brother."

Tristan stared, dumbfounded, but then closed his mouth when he realized that she too was fighting wars, probably longer than he had been. She wasn't, after all, an untouchable, but before he could say anything, she wrinkled her nose, and waved her hands dismissively, "No, I don't want to talk about it."

"You brought it up," he reasoned.

"By way of explanation," she retorted. In a gentler voice she said, "It was a long time ago. I'll tell you one day."

Tristan gave her a suspicious, penetrating look. "What if you leave?"

She grinned, "then you'll come with me," she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Eracura, still grinning, wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Tristan replied with an elated smile, before leaning in to kiss her.

"Get a room," Lancelot groaned, as he walked casually by. Tristan let his forehead fall onto Eracura's clavicle, with a tortured, exasperated sigh as Eracura went nearly hysterical with laughter, her good spirits returning.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all of you who read this chapter, even though it was severely boring, even by my standards. I feel very excited; I'm so close to finishing this story, and by doing so it will be the first I have _ever_ completed. Thank you also to those who reviewed my last chapter; I know it was a long time coming, but thank you in any event.

Love!! xxxx


	17. XVI: Scrupulosa quod Interficio

**XVI: _Scrupulosa quod Interficio_**

The daylight faded surprisingly quickly, and nightfall found Eracura and the Knights playing cards in the courtyard tavern. Having never played such a game in all her life, Eracura had been seated between Arthur and Tristan, who each felt obliged to demonstrate the wrong rules in order to embarrass her in her loss. Finally, after having observed the whole charade with sympathetic bemusement, Vanora wedged herself between Eracura and Tristan, reeducating her with the proper way to play the game.

Meanwhile, the soldiers at the other tables grew increasingly more cross and hoarse by hollering at Vanora to get them more meat, instantly – meat meaning ale, as if they didn't already have enough alcohol in their veins. Eracura watched Vanora ignore the men as if they were crickets in the night, rather than impatient, long-winded men, and then finally asked if she was ever going to serve them to make them shut up. Vanora might be able to dismiss them from experience, but Eracura's ears were sensitive and her nerves already raw from various things grating on them all day.

In response, Vanora twisted one corner of her mouth and waved one hand flippantly. "Let Lindara handle it," she said, "If she wants to work here, she'll certainly need the practice."

Eracura smiled, and looked over her shoulder at her friend, who was looking horribly frantic as she poured drinks for the insatiable men, and Vanora followed her gaze with a rueful sigh. "You're right," she said, "I should go help her." She struggled off of the bench and made her way over to Lindara, taking the second tankard from the girl's hand. Lindara looked at Vanora with a look so full of relief that Eracura could almost feel it.

After walloping the men for the third consecutive time, Eracura was about ready to retire. When Tristan asked if she wanted him to accompany her to her door, Eracura kissed him softly and told him that she would be fine. "You need to win your money back anyway," she teased, jangling the coins in her hand. He patted her hip and she trotted away.

Before she could exit into the shadowy passage towards her quarters, however, Vanora gripped her hand, speaking quickly to convince her to listen to what she had to say before she went to her chamber. Eracura agreed, and allowed herself to be pulled into a darkened doorway.

"I heard from Bors that you're doing that Tertius fellow's dirty work," Vanora said bluntly. She wasn't one to beat around the bush, Eracura thought as she groped for words with which to respond.

"Well, I – uh …"

Thankfully, Vanora interjected; "You don't need to explain; I understand why you're doing it. Just be wary … Tertius has no lack of ambition and no good will come of this, no matter what he wants you or the men to believe. If you can find a way out, take it for certain."

Eracura laughed bitterly, "If the opportunity arises, I surely would not hesitate."

Vanora patted Eracura's shoulder. "Good. Now I should get back to work; I've ignored them long enough. G'night, darlin'."

"Good night," Eracura replied. She then proceeded to continue her promenade to her room. The night air was chill and close; she could feel a storm coming on, and shivered, rubbing the skin of her bare arms to dispel the goose bumps. She was nearly to the warmth of her room when she heard quiet male voices in a gloomy alleyway, and her curiosity surmounted her better judgment. She peered down the chasm, but could only see two silhouetted figures. She pressed herself against the wall facing the opposite direction, as near as she dared, and she could hear them well enough now, even if she did have to strain slightly.

"– he has stood in my way one too many times!" that pompous, oily tone was unmistakable; Tertius, Eracura realized with a sudden wave of nausea. "But within the week, he will be disposed of and no longer able to resist me, thanks in partial to that Woad savage, and thanks most of all to her _dear_ cousin for offering her up on a silver platter. Unwitting allies to my uprising whether they like it or not."

Eracura bristled, trembling in anger. So, he was this year's usurper, and more than likely the usurper from six years ago who had killed Woads to gain favor among the people. He had killed her eldest brother, Accalon, those six years ago; she had personally witnessed it, but at the time had been none the wiser as to his motive and too young to avenge him, and restrained by her eldest sister Morgaine – who was married and a baby on her hip, now - which also had made revenge difficult for Eracura. There was no time like the present, she thought coldly.

"And," said another man whose voice Eracura did not recognize, "what are we going to do with her once she takes care of Savaric?"

"Well," said Tertius, contrite, "I can't help but wish that the Sarmatian wasn't so hell-bent on accompanying her; I hate to lose another man before I can gain from his skill, but with him as her bodyguard, she'll be that much more unobtainable, and we need her in order to influence Arthur, dead as she might be, he doesn't need to know that." Eracura swallowed hard, hating more than ever how her first impressions of men like Tertius usually turned out to be correct, and she would be _damned_ before she let someone like Tertius kill her. She had a much grander death in mind.

There was a pause, and Eracura could almost see Tertius mentally congratulating himself while basking in the admiration for his despicable cunning from his underling. Then: "With your leave, _sire_, I'd like to get back to the drink and the pretty half-breed." It was Tertius's underling that spoke, and Eracura assumed he was speaking of Lindara, and the reference of her ethnic background did nothing for Eracura's fury.

"Yeah, go ahead," Tertius said gruffly, "I've got to take a piss." Eracura rolled her eyes. Had men ever heard of _propriety? _Honestly. And Romans thought _she_ was a savage.

The underling's approaching footsteps made Eracura reach beneath her skirt for her dagger, cursing that she would get his blood on her lovely gown. It was all for a good cause, she reassured herself.

The man rounded the corner, saw her immediately for she stood directly in his path, and had only the time for a partial yell to escape his throat before it was neatly cut by Eracura. She secured herself in the shadows once more, sidling along the wall towards Tertius, who was just pulling up his breeches, looking around frantically.

"Stilicho?" he called, his voice just barely quavering.

"Dead," Eracura grunted flatly. A flash of fear lit his eyes, and Eracura relished it, still creeping closer to him in the shadows.

"Who's there?" Tertius demanded, his voice suddenly an octave higher, and Eracura was forced to swallow a laugh.

"I think you know," she hissed, but she stepped out into the moonlight in front of him anyway, allowing her blood-streaked dagger to glint cruelly.

"Alright, savage," Tertius spat, "if this is how you want it."

She narrowed her eyes, "oh, it is."

He nodded, a grim smile curling his lips. "Good. I hoped for nothing less."

He drew his sword, and Eracura assumed a partially crouched position, after tucking one corner of her skirt into the belt that held her dagger, holding the knife itself in front of her. His blade hummed as it sliced the air in front of her, and Eracura dodged it easily. Tertius would be one of those unfairly easy fights, where she pitied her victim as she stared down at their dead body. While she thought about it, the blade had resumed its journey towards her, opening a biting cut along her exposed thigh. She looked down at the cut, then back up at him, to see him raise his eyebrows tauntingly.

He swung his blade again, but this time Eracura was not distracted. She blocked with the outside bone of her forearm, pushed the blade forcefully away with the consequences of the point of the blade slicing the thin skin of her forearm lengthwise, as well. Then she spun her body in towards Tertius, holding his wrist tightly with her empty hand, and using the clenched fist of the one that held her dagger to break his arm at the elbow. It snapped cleanly with a satisfying _crunch_, and Tertius cried out in pain, but still somehow managed to transfer his sword from his now useless hand to his left one.

Eracura was caught off guard for a moment too long, and he sliced her deeply in her right side in an attempt to bring it across her abdomen and kill her. Moving too quickly backwards and away from him, she tripped on a loose flagstone and fell to the ground. Tertius stabbed into the ground, where she had been just an instant before as she flung her legs back over her head, and onto her feet, continuing to back away from him.

He laughed, "Not so confident now, are you? Without your Knights to protect you."

"I think," she gestured to his limp arm, "that I can hold my own by now."

He laughed again, raising the hairs on the back of her neck, but he did not respond. Then his face twisted once again, as he lunged for her. She dodged to the side, dragging her knife over his cheekbone and through his ear.

He roared in outrage, clamping his hand to the ear she had rendered into separate parts. Pulling his fingers away and seeing blood, he yelled again and charged her. She ducked, balancing on her knuckles, and swung her bleeding leg at his ankles, knocking him to the ground. He recovered quickly, but had dropped his sword a good three feet away from himself. He looked to it, then looked to her, and she gave him a malicious smile, tossing her dagger away from herself, raising her fists.

Tertius narrowed his eyes at her, unsure of what to make of her, and then laughed heartily. "Man to man?" he scoffed, disbelieving.

"Man to _woman_," Eracura corrected, "if you call yourself a man."

He glared, "oh _woman_, you have _no idea._"

He attacked first, with a punch from his left fist that was ungraceful but would have been solid had it landed. Eracura avoided easily, putting a test-punch to his ribs to see if he was wearing extra padding or anything of the sort. He didn't and he was still unaware of how much force Eracura truly had to support a blow.

His next punch, however, he did land, on her cheek and just at the corner of her mouth and barely above her jaw. Eracura was slammed into the wall, stunned for a time, and he grabbed her by the hair, making her shout in protest, and twisted her around by it so that her back was pressed fully against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her neck, strangling her, his breath hot and vile on her skin.

"Goodbye, little girl," he hissed, tightening his hold until her knees went weak. And then, Eracura felt that foreign stirring in her heart, that she'd experienced that day on the battlefield when Adonis had died, and her body was filled with a surging energy and clarity of thought that astounded her.

She reached over head with one hand, grabbing Tertius by his own hair, and gripped her other hand around his elbow; using the last bit of force she had left to flip him over her and onto the ground on his back.

She fell to her hands and knees, pulling air desperately into her lungs until she felt ready to stand.

Tertius, unfortunately, had also just recovered, and was struggling to his feet. Eracura was hoping to catch him prone, as he was proving to be a more difficult opponent than she'd originally anticipated. She wouldn't let him get the better of her again, she vowed to the sensation in her heart. He moved to strike her, and she grabbed his wrist, bending it until his left arm, too, snapped. He screamed, doubling over, and she put her hands on his shoulders to use as support as she brought her knee up repeatedly into his abdomen and groin, alternatively.

He fell to his knees, breathless and heaving, and Eracura crouched, looking into his face pityingly. "You chose the wrong girl," she informed him tranquilly. She stood, moved to where his sword was and hefted it up with only a small amount of difficulty. She sank down to her haunches once more, waving the sword in front of his face to ensure that he saw it. He did, but was completely unable to defend himself with his useless arms as she gutted him with it.

**--------------------------------------------------**

**Author's Note: **Yes, I know, a little gruesome. But in my opinion, Tertius was completely deserving. If this was a movie, this would have been the epic battle between the two opposing forces, and if two forces such as Woads and Romans weren't as opposing as they get, than I don't know who could be classed enemies.

Anyway, thank you to all my diligent readers and reviewers, and I hope that you all liked this chapter, because it is the second last one of this part of Eracura's story.

Love!! xxxxx


	18. XVII: In Diligio quod Bellum

**XVII: _In Diligo quod Bellum_**

Eracura had no memory of blacking out, but knew that she had when a pair of urgent hands were shaking her urgently awake. She groaned, allowing her head to loll from side to side and rubbing her throbbing temples with icy fingertips.

"Oh, God," Tristan hissed, pulling her up into a sitting position and crushing her to him. "You're awake." He stroked her back and hair, but before she could reciprocate, which she'd had every intention of doing, he'd flung her away from him, nearly cracking her skull on the stone wall behind her. "What were you _thinking?_" He gestured sharply at the body of Tertius, his cheeks flushed and the veins in his temples protruded, throbbing. "Oh right," he said, his voice suddenly cold and calm – but only for a moment; "You _weren't!_ Wh … wh … wh …" he sighed heavily, letting his chin fall to his chest and rubbing his temples. He groaned, looked back at her and finally managed, "_Why_? _Why would you do this?_"

"Well," Eracura said in a haughty tone, running her hands through her hair, "I might explain it to you, if you don't dislodge my brain first." Tristan glowered at her as she stood up. Eracura ignored him, retrieved her dagger and replaced it before smoothing her skirt down. When she looked back up, Tristan had stood opposite her and invasively close, which normally she wouldn't have minded but with him in a pet it was rather unsettling.

"Save it," he snapped. "Arthur would like to hear this _explanation _too."

Eracura made a face at the back of his head, following him out of the alleyway and ultimately, into the great hall. Arthur was already there, scowling fiercely at her as she calmly assumed a seat across the table from him.

"Have you ever," he began darkly, "_ever_ thought anything through in your life?"

Eracura's brows snapped together, and her mouth twisted. "I resent that," she stated, "I happen to have a _very_ legitimate reason for doing what I did."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up as he glared at her from across the round table. "Do you really?" he said mockingly, "Well, by all means, enlighten us." He folded his arms across his chest, waiting expectantly, and Eracura stood perfectly still for a moment, more than half of her wanting to turn around and leave them there, just to be contrary. But she forced herself to remain, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I would not have him use me against you," she said flatly.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

She told him everything, beginning with how Arthur had told Tertius that Eracura was his cousin, and that they would protect her no matter what. She added that she had been touched by the gesture, but that by informing Tertius of their relation, he had provided the sinister man with valuable insight on how to acquire him and his knights as combatants in his army. In his army that would fight to gain the Empire.

There was a long silence, in which Arthur's and Tristan's expressions were slightly sheepish as they looked at her. And then Arthur said, "Perhaps you should leave, for a time," he suggested.

Tristan frowned and snapped his gaze from Eracura to Arthur, who merely continued to gaze at a nodding Eracura. "_What_?" he hissed, suddenly fearful of her departure. Arthur looked at him, and shrugged, meaning to respond before Tristan continued. "You said we would always protect her," Tristan said accusingly.

"It will be safer -" Eracura began, but she was cut off by Tristan.

"You can't actually be considering this," he snapped at her, "I will protect you."

"You could try," she said reasonably. "But you can't just always have me going wherever you go. You can't always be there for me."

"Then I'll go with you," he declared firmly. Arthur frowned deeply, opening his mouth to reply. Eracura held up her hand, motioning for him to be silent.

"Absolutely not," she growled, standing. "For one, you don't honestly believe that when the times comes for me to leave that you would abandon these knights – your family – to accompany me," Tristan made to protest, but she kept on; "No listen; you wouldn't. You never would, much as you'd like to pretend that you could." She paused, "Besides, you would never get your freedom. Deserters are hunted down like wild animals. You know this as well as I."

Tristan quieted, looking down at the floor, his heart palpitating in strange rhythms in his chest. He hesitated, shifting anxiously on his feet, and Eracura could only presume that he was, at this moment, licking his lips in his fashion, for she couldn't see his face to tell for certain. And then he sighed, turned on his heel and left the hall. Eracura's heart felt suddenly heavy and cold as ice as she stared at the void he'd left in his absence.

Then Arthur stood before her, with his hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to leave forever," he told her, "Actually, I – I rather hope you return before long."

She offered a grossly unconvincing smile, "I shall not leave forever."

"Good," he said, smiling a smile that was not unlike hers. "You'll dine in the morning?" It was more of a statement, but Eracura agreed anyway.

"I will, before I leave," she assured him.

He nodded curtly, and embraced her rather abruptly. "There is nothing else to say but I love you, cousin, and thank you." Eracura bit her lip, the threat of tears stinging her eyes as she squeezed her arms around his torso, but just as quickly as he embraced her, he released her, and swept out of the hall, leaving her on her own.

Overcome with a wave of emotion, Eracura was forced to her knees by it, and the tears flowed from her brilliant eyes as if it were natural for her to sob in such a way. She was cold and alone once more, as she had always been, shivering on the marble floor in the room of the Round Table.

And then an odd thing happened that tended to coax Eracura from her loneliness. Lindara sank to her knees in front of her, reached up and wiped the tears from Eracura's face before hugging her friend tight. "Why do you cry?" she whispered, stroking Eracura's hair consolingly. Eracura felt no need to answer, not even as Lindara ushered her to her own room, where all the tools useful for the mending of wounds of the flesh – and Syhier – awaited her.

Eracura was perfectly silent as Lindara cleaned and dressed her wounds, and it was Lindara who finally ruptured the silence.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" she said sorrowfully, passing Eracura a stormy gray dress behind the dressing screen.

Eracura changed slowly, nodding at first, trying to find her words. "I must," she finally said, emerging from behind the screen, feeling relatively human once more as she looked at her friend.

"You will return?" Lindara inquired.

"As long as my heart still beats," Eracura vowed, placing her trembling right hand over the throbbing organ. Lindara crossed the room in three great strides, throwing her arms around Eracura's neck.

"You are my _greatest _friend," she said wetly, tears coursing their way down her face and onto Eracura's shoulder. Then the girl pulled away, face blotchy, and kissed Eracura's cheek fondly, proceeding to practically sprint out of Eracura's quarters in the same manner Arthur had left the great hall.

But Eracura did not want to be alone, and if she felt this way, than Tristan surely must. She folded the furs over Syhier where he slept on her bed, doused the fire and emerged into the night. The thought that he could actually be in the tavern didn't even cross her mind as she made a beeline for his quarters, but when she reached his door, she hesitated, pacing outside of his door, unexpectedly nervous. Then she pressed her ear to the door, and she could distinctly hear him prowling around inside. And his footsteps were getting closer, and then the door was opened, and Eracura tumbled against him. Tristan caught her around the waist, stumbling himself at the surprise, steadying them both on their feet before looking down into her upturned face.

No words were spoken. After a moment of staring into each other's eyes, he promptly devoured her mouth, clutching her desperately as his tongue delved deeply into her mouth, discovering the sweet treasures buried there. He kicked the door shut, pinning her back against it, his hands roving from her thighs up to cup her breasts, and then slowly back down to cup her hips, pulling her pelvis firmly against his.

Her hands hastily, clumsily, tugged at the hem of his tunic, pushing it up over his head, and then he stooped to lift her up, regaining her lips as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands making their own exploration of his naked, well-muscled torso as he ported her over to the bed.

They made love four times that night, and Tristan drifted off to sleep with his arm securely around Eracura's shoulders. With her cheek on Tristan's chest, Eracura traced the lines created by his muscles with her fingertips. Her heart was content and peaceful, but her mind was tormented. She knew that she had to leave now, or she never would.

Slowly, carefully, Eracura slipped out from his grasp and from under the blankets, pulling on her gown. Before she departed, she kissed his sleeping mouth, gazing down at him tearfully. She crept out of his room, and dashed to her own, packing her few belongings, and trading her gown for men's garments before gathering Syhier in her arms and making her way to the barn.

Eracura and Syhier raced out of the barn, borne by Astolat, and she was gone before the sun peeked over the horizon, leaving her heart at Badon Hill.

_**THE END**_


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